THE  REAL 

WORLD 


ifornia 
nal 


ROBERT  HERRICK 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  REAL  WORLD 


BY   THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  COMMON  LOT. 

THE  GOSPEL  OF  FREEDOM. 

THE   WEB  OF  LIFE. 


THE    REAL    WORLD 


BY 


ROBERT    HERRICK 

AUTHOR  OF  "THK  WEB  OF  LIFE,"  -;THE  GOSPEL  OF 

FREEDOM,"  "  THE  MAN  WHO  WINS,"  "  LITERARY 

LOVE-LETTERS  AND  OTHER  STORIES,"  ETC. 


||0lfe 

THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON :  MACMILLAN  <k  CO.,  LTD. 
1905 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYBIGHT,    1904, 

BY  THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Special  edition,  in  paper  covers,  June,  1905. 


NortonoO 

J.  8.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


R.    M.    L. 


"And  though  ice  wear  out  life,  alas  I 

Distracted  as  a  homeless  wind, 
In  beating  where  we  must  not  pass, 
In  seeking  what  we  shall  not  find; 

"  Yet  we  shall  one  day  gain,  life  past, 

Clear  prospect  o'er  our  being's  whole , 
Shall  see  ourselves,  and  learn  at  last 
Our  true  affinities  of  soul." 


870819 


"  THE  severe  Schools  shall  never  laugh  me  out  of  the 
Philosophy  of  Hermes,  that  this  visible  World  is  but  a 
Picture  of  the  invisible,  wherein,  as  in  a  Pourtraict, 
things  are  not  truely,  but  in  equivocal  shapes,  and  as 
they  counterfeit  some  more  real  substance  in  that  invisi 
ble  fabrick." 

—  SIB  THOMAS  BROWNE. 


BOOK  I 
BOYHOOD 


CHAPTER  I 

HE  hung  there  peering  over  the  picket  fence  into  the 
March  dusk  long  after  he  had  really  given  up  all  hope 
of  seeing  his  brother's  tall  form  come  up  the  lane. 
Steve  usually  got  home  from  the  Academy  by  one 
o'clock,  or  a  little  after.  Jack  had  looked  for  him 
pretty  steadily  since  twelve.  A  dozen  times  his  grip 
on  the  pickets  had  tightened  nervously  when  he  de-  ' 
tected  some  one  in  the  vague  territory  at  the  extremity 
of  the  lane,  and  then  slowly  relaxed  as  a  stranger's 
countenance  emerged  on  a  nearer  view.  At  first  the  day 
had  been  brilliantly  lighted  with  clear  sun,  but  as  the 
hours  crept  on  and  the  wrong  figures  repeated  them 
selves  with  increasing  frequency,  thin  vaporish  clouds 
had  spread  themselves  over  the  blue  sky,  and  a  spring 
fog  had  come  from  the  distant  seacoast,  filtering  through 
the  straggling  houses,  casting  a  mantle  of  doubt  over 
common  objects.  So  the  persons  of  the  passers-by  had 
taken  on  an  unreality,  a  vagueness  of  outline,  correspond 
ing  with  the  cloudy  thoughts,  the  disappointment  in  the 
boy's  heart.  Neighbor  Pancoast's  yard,  midway  of  the 
lane,  began  to  fill  with  whitish  ghosts ;  the  open  field 


4  THE  REAL   WORLD 

along  the  distant  avenue,  where  the  older  boys  played 
ball,  expanded  into  a  gray  limitless  moor ;  the  figures 
passing  from  time  to  time  into  the  cross-streets  formed 
an  endless  procession  of  uncouth  giants.  So  strongly 
had  this  insubstantial  appearance  of  the  visible  world 
got  hold  of  the  boy  that  when  the  shuffling  figure  of  old 
man  Cliff  paused  opposite  him  and  the  old  man  said, 
"  What  are  yer  lookin'  fer  ? "  Jack  drew  back  from 
the  fence  without  replying,  frightened  by  the  earthly 
habit  of  speech  betrayed  by  this  bulky  shadow.  When 
the  old  man  resumed  his  shamble  down  the  lane,  the  boy 
relapsed  at  once  Into  the  hypnotic  spell  created  by  the 
stream  of  silent,  foggy  forms. 

Earlier  in  the  afternoon,  before  the  mist  had  blotted 
out  the  usual  aspect  of  affairs,  his  sister  had  come  from 
the  house  to  entice  him  from  his  post ;  she  had  tried  to 
soften  the  keen  edge  of  his  disappointment  with  a  piece 
of  candied  ginger.  But  she  was  an  ineffective  person, 
whose  chief  offices  in  life  were  feebly  consolatory.  After 
the  fashion  of  those  whose  dull  perceptions  are  incapable 
of  sounding  the  gulfs  of  grief,  she  believed  that  soft 
words  and  candied  ginger  were  adequate  poultices  for 
all  woes.  Thus  he  had  clung  to  his  post  by  the  picket- 
fence,  not  encouraging  with  a  reply  this  offer  of  weak 
sympathy.  The  silence,  the  moving  illusory  figures, 
were  a  pleasanter  balm  than  any  she  had  to  offer ! 

Their  father  had  some  free  tickets  from  the  opera 
company  that  was  filling  its  annual  spring  engagement 
in  the  neighboring  city.  In  years  before,  whenever  the.ve 
were  tickets,  their  mother  had  been  induced  after  much 


THE   KEAL   WORLD  5 

coaxing  to  go  to  the  opera ;  but  this  year  she  had  refused 
so  stubbornly  that  the  tickets  for  the  matine'e  had  been 
handed  over  to  Steve,  with  the  understanding  that  he 
was  to  come  home  from  the  Academy  promptly  and  take 
his  younger  brother  to  the  opera.  This  arrangement  had 
been  made  the  evening  before,  after  some  wrangling 
between  his  father  and  his  mother  that  closed  in  the 
usual  recriminations,  abuse,  and,  finally,  sullen  silence. 
Steve  escaped  these  frequent  thunderstorms  by  going 
to  a  neighbor's,  or  down  to  the  shops  in  the  "  square  " ; 
the  younger  boy,  who  was  not  permitted  to  leave  the 
house  after  dark  for  fear  of  possible  corruptions,  with 
drew  to  his  attic  room,  or  to  the  cellar,  where  the  noise 
of  harsh  words  penetrated  only  in  the  louder  bursts  of 
passion.  But  last  night  both  boys  had  been  present  at 
the  quarrel,  and,  moreover,  Jack  had  seen  his  father 
hand  over  the  tickets  to  Steve  this  morning  before  he 
left  the  house.  There  could  be  no  mistake  on  his  part; 
it  was  only  one  of  those  irrational  interruptions  in  the 
flow  of  events  that  made  all  life  so  chaotic,  so  unreal ! 

He  knew  little  enough  about  the  opera.  It  was  some 
thing  like  the  theatre,  —  he  had  been  once  to  see  "  Ham 
let,"  —  only  there  was  singing,  his  sister  said,  and  it  was 
nicer.  Some  of  the  things  they  sang  in  opera  he  had 
heard,  for  his  father  often  played  accompaniments  in 
concerts,  and  now  and  then  the  performers  had  come  to 
the  house  to  rehearse  their  arias.  These  times  he  had 
hung  around  the  house,  in  the  dining  room,  or  in  the 
yard  outside,  savoring  surreptitiously  the  sweeter  bars, 
the  more  melodious  passages  of  the  florid  arias.  He 


6  THE   REAL   WORLD 

recalled  with  especial  vividness  one  of  these  people,  —  a 
woman,  who  sang  contralto  in  the  church  where  his 
father  had  been  organist ;  and  her  voice  still  thrilled  him 
with  a  curious  feeling  of  mystery,  of  perfect  harmony, 
like  a  peaceful  day  in  the  house,  when  his  parents  were 
of  one  accord,  not  unlike  a  well-oiled  mechanism,  such 
as  a  delicately  made  knife,  that  works  precisely  and 
smoothly,  as  it  ought  to  do.  That  strange  sense  of  the 
harmony  of  another  world,  into  which  the  voice  of  the 
singer  had  lifted  him  for  a  few  seconds,  sank  deeper  into 
his  memory  because  of  the  strident  catastrophe  of  its 
end.  The  swelling,  tumultuous  note  where  the  con 
tralto's  voice  rested  powerfully,  had  been  broken  by 
the  noise  of  sharp,  angry  voices  in  dispute.  He  knew 
at  once  that  there  was  some  row.  It  was  the  last  time 
the  contralto  came  to  the  house.  The  strip  of  neglected 
yard,  with  its  rotting  fence  and  dying  peach  tree,  took 
hold  of  the  boy's  imagination  at  that  moment  all  the 
more  acutely.  The  dull  day,  the  dreary  yard,  —  his  own 
bleak  little  cosmos,  —  was  all  the  drearier  for  the  singer's 
notes ;  nevertheless,  he  craved  the  excitement,  as  one 
might  crave  a  narcotic  that  brought  its  relentless  sequel 
of  pain.  The  hope  of  hearing  that  voice  made  him 
almost  willing  to  go  to  church,  whither  since  he  was  five 
he  had  been  scrupulously  driven  by  his  mother.  There, 
in  what  seemed  to  him  the  interminable  routine  of  forms 
and  words,  he  waited  for  the  moments  of  perfect  song ; 
and  they  were  rare,  indeed,  coming  unexpectedly  in 
the  middle  of  the  Te  Deum,  in  a  single  bar  of  a  tedious 
anthem,  in  the  gently  chanted  Kyrie  JZlison,  —  never 


THE   REAL   WORLD  7 

sounding  at  all  for  many  weeks  at  a  time.  But  there 
was  ever  the  chance !  And  when  the  note  was  struck, 
the  little  church,  of  a  rude,  mill-made  gothic  character, 
expanded  largely ;  the  quiescent  worshippers,  soggy  from 
their  late  Sunday  breakfasts,  rose  and  shone  as  beautiful 
men  and  women :  the  other  world  enfolded  him,  and  he 
was  content. 

So  keen  was  his  longing  for  this  other  world  of  har 
mony  that  he  had  found  new  ways  of  summoning  it,  — 
certain  books,  a  few  moments  of  the  day  at  certain  sea 
sons  of  the  year.  Sometimes  the  vision  had  come  of  its 
own  accord  when  he  had  retreated  to  the  dusty  cellar  to 
escape  the  storms  above,  and  these  moments  had  been 
the  best,  because  they  had  not  been  bought  by  any  effort ; 
and  fading  they  left  in  their  train  less  dinginess,  less 
disappointment. 

So  the  opera  had  stirred  a  vast  cloud  of  phantoms 
for  the  few  hours  that  he  had  had  to  expect  it,  —  he 
wished  it  were  a  week  off,  —  and  he  had  promised  himself 
unconsciously  three  hours  of  just  such  trance  as  the 
contralto's  aria  from  the  Messiah  had  raised.  He  had 
not  dared  to  say  anything  to  Steve  about  the  engagement 
— he  judged  it  would  be  safer  to  take  it  for  granted. 
When  he  finally  realized  that  Steve  was  not  coming, 
unspeakable  rage  slowly  suffocated  his  heart ;  he  thought 
of  what  he  could  do  to  hurt  this  stronger  person.  He 
knew  it  would  be  useless  to  speak  to  his  mother,  as 
she  would  in  the  end  take  Steve's  part,  no  matter  what 
the  quarrel  might  be.  Mary  would  try  to  keep  him 
from  telling  his  father  to  avoid  the  family  dispute} 


8  THE   REAL   WORLD 

but  he  would  not  be  appeased,  he  would  make  Steve 
suffer ! 

But  as  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  mist  came  up  the 
lane,  and  the  dull  details  of  his  landscape  transformed 
themselves,  his  rage  died  out,  and  a  wistful  wonder  suc 
ceeded  —  a  wonder  why  so  much  of  the  time  the  untidy 
yard,  the  dusty  street,  the  ugly  men,  the  quarrelsome 
family  existed,  and  so  rarely,  so  briefly,  this  other  kind 
of  a  world,  which  seemed  to  have  a  better  right  to  exist, 
took  its  place.  Alas !  every  one  persisted  in  acting 
as  if  there  were  but  one  kind  of  world.  Mary,  for 
example,  —  he  doubted  if  Mary  knew  of  any  other  world, 
and  he  was  sure  that  neither  Steve  nor  his  mother 
knew  what  he  knew  about  it. 

By  the  time  that  his  father's  form  emerged  from  the 
mist,  his  rage  against  Steve  had  quite  died  out,  and  also 
his  curiosity  over  the  puzzle  of  his  non-appearance.  His 
father  came  along  the  Pancoasts'  fence,  slowly,  as  if  he 
were  dragged  out  by  the  day's  duties.  His  head  leaned 
forward,  his  eyes  were  bent  toward  the  ground,  and  a  roll 
in  his  hand  bumped  negligently  against  the  fence  palings. 
He  never  looked  up,  not  even  when  he  reached  the  gate, 
merely  fumbled  at  the  latch  and  pushed  his  way  in,  as  if 
he  had  resigned  his  will  to  habit  in  so  much  as  he  could. 
The  boy  slipped  down  from  the  fence  and  made  him 
self  felt ;  his  father  looked  at  him  kindly,  and  asked  in 
a  tired  voice  :  — 

"  Is  that  you,  Jack  ?     How  did  you  like  the  opera?  " 

Jack  did  not  answer.  The  sense  of  disappointment 
returned  and  choked  him. 


THE    REAL   WORLD  9 

"  You  got  home  early.     Did  you  stay  for  the  last  act  ?  " 

"  Steve  didn't  come."  He  could  find  no  more  incisive 
words. 

"  What !  "  his  father  exclaimed,  stopping  and  straight 
ening  himself.  "I  gave  him  the  tickets  this  morning. 
What's  happened  to  him  ?  " 

Jack  shook  his  head,  and  the  man  took  the  boy's  hand 
sympathetically,  saying  gently :  — 

"  Well,  I'll  take  you  next  week  if  I  can  get  the  tickets. 
Don't  bother,  and  don't  say  anything  to  Steve.  Perhaps 
he  forgot  all  about  it." 

At  first  the  boy  was  consoled,  but  at  the  last  words, 
denying  him  just  vengeance,  he  withdrew  his  hand.  He 
knew  why  his  father  was  trying  to  smooth  it  over,  —  just 
like  Mary,  —  so  that  his  mother  shouldn't  talk  and  get 
into  one  of  her  rages.  A  feeling  almost  of  contempt  for 
his  father  swept  over  him,  and  he  said  no  more.  He 
would  take  his  own  measures. 

Together  they  proceeded  to  the  back  door  of  the  house. 
It  was  a  stucco-covered  brick  affair,  and  large  patches  of 
the  stucco,  colored  and  lined  in  imitation  of  sandstone 
blocks,  were  peeling  off.  The  building  was  shedding  its 
false  skin ;  the  ragged  grass  plots,  the  abandoned  flower 
beds,  made  it  more  unlovely. 

"Ann's  gone,"  the  boy  said,  pregnantly,  with  a  bitter 
desire  to  solace  his  burning  resentment  by  chronicling 
mTsfortune.  The  man's  shoulders  stooped  unconsciously. 

"  Mother  said  she  was  drunk  and  impudent,"  he  con 
tinued,  anxious  to  make  an  impression.  "  She  sent  her 
away.  Ann  swore  and  made  a  fuss," 


10 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  old  Irishwoman  had 
been  discharged  from  the  Pemberton  household.  But 
after  her  sprees,  when  her  too  truthful  tongue  no  longer 
wagged  with  liquor,  she  came  back,  and  was  forgiven. 
She  was  the  only  servant  whom  Mrs.  Pemberton  could 
keep,  for  she  knew  the  family  disagreements,  and  a  new 
servant  would  have  to  learn  them. 

"  The  doctor 's  been  here  most  half  an  hour,"  Jack 
continued,  impartially ;  "  and  mother's  gone  to  bed." 

They  had  reached  the  back  door,  and  Mr.  Pemberton 
was  not  obliged  to  recognize  the  information.  Jack  fol 
lowed  his  father  into  the  house  and  waited  to  see  what 
he  would  do  in  face  of  the  bare  dining-room  table  and 
the  cluttered  kitchen,  which  corroborated  his  story. 

Mr.  Pemberton  opened  the  hall  door  noiselessly,  de 
posited  his  roll  of  music,  his  hat  and  coat,  and  returned 
to  the  kitchen.  Jack  helped  him  as  he  had  done  so 
often  on  similar  occasions,  running  to  the  cellar  for 
kindling,  getting  the  eggs  and  butter  and  bread  from  the 
pantry,  buttering  the  toast  after  his  father  had  prepared 
it.  The  boy  said  nothing.  For  the  first  time  he  was 
thinking  of  what  they  were  doing,  —  of  what  it  meant. 
At  last,  when  the  elements  of  a  supper  were  ready,  his 
father  said:  "Get  me  the  tray,  Jack,  and  go  and  call 
Mary." 

Then  selecting  the  best  slice  of  toast,  the  best  cup  and 
saucer,  and  the  silver  cream-jug,  Mr.  Pemberton  arranged 
the  tray.  As  Jack  went  to  call  his  sister,  he  could  hear 
his  father's  soothing,  somewhat  timid  voice,  in  the  room 
above,  and  his  mother's  querulous  answer.  Instead  of 


THE   KEAL   WOULD  11 

calling  Mary,  he  listened,  the  feeling  of  contempt  again 
filling  his  heart.  Soon  there  cauie  a  murmur  of  expostu 
lating  voices  from  the  room  above,  and  finally  distinct, 
sharp  sentences :  — 

"  Steve  would  be  all  right  if  you  did  something  for 
your  family.  He  can't  have  fit  associates,  living  where 
we  do  and  how  we  do.  The  nice  boys  at  the  Academy 
won't  go  with  him.  A  music  teacher  —  " 

"  Is  a  pettifogging  country  lawyer,  like  your  father  was, 
any  better  ?  "  the  man's  voice  flamed  back  with  unusual 
spirit. 

Jack  retreated  from  the  front  hall  and  called  out  of 
the  dining-room  window,  "  Mary,  Mary ! "  until  his  sister 
appeared  at  a  gap  in  the  fence. 


CHAPTER  II 

STEVE  did  not  appear  the  next  day,  nor  was  anything 
heard  from  him  for  two  days  thereafter. 

Jack  was  not  told  this,  but  he  knew  it  instinctively. 
The  atmosphere  of  the  house  was  ominous,  something  like 
what  it  had  been  when  his  little  brother  had  died  three 
years  before.  His  mother  remained  in  bed  in  her  dark 
ened  room ;  his  father  and  Mary  and  he  prepared  the 
desultory  meals,  maintaining  a  constrained  silence.  At 
first  there  had  been  loud,  angry  discussions  in  his  mother's 
room  above,  followed  by  hysterical  tears ;  and  the  doctor 
—  a  fashionably  attired  man,  who  was  driven  by  a  negro 
servant  —  came  every  day,  a  sure  sign  that  the  family 
crisis  was  important.  Then  Mary  was  taken  into  the 
confidence  of  her  parents ;  attired  in  her  best  church 
dress  she  disappeared  into  the  town  on  mysterious 
errands.  She  could  not  be  induced  to  divulge  these,  and 
she  wore  perpetually  an  air  of  secret  and  responsible 
grief  that  irritated  the  thirteen-year-old  boy.  Their 
father  and  Jack  wished  to  eat  in  the  kitchen,  as  the  most 
labor-saving  method,  but  Mary,  who  was  nearly  fifteen, 
was  loyal  to  the  prejudices  of  both  sides  of  the  family, 
and  insisted  upon  setting  the  table  in  the  dining  room 
and  presiding  in  her  mother's  place  with  funereal  grav 
ity,  alternating  with  feeble  sallies  of  conventional  remarks. 

12 


THE   REAL   WORLD  13 

During  this  interregnum  Jack  had  unusual  freedom. 
He  had  taken  advantage  of  his  freedom  once  to  stray 
from  the  neighborhood  into  the  busy  "square,"  where 
he  bought  some  candy  and  cigarettes,  as  he  had  seen 
Steve  do,  but  this  one  excursion  satisfied  him  except  for 
surreptitious  visits  to  old  man  Cliff's  market  garden  that 
stretched  in  green  furrows  behind  the  Pemberton  hen 
house.  These  excursions  were  made  less  in  the  desire  of 
loot  from  the  Cliff  strawberry  beds  than  in  the  hope  of 
finding  little  Isabelle  Mather  in  the  old  pavilion  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  Cliff  garden.  General  Mather's  estate 
stretched  from  this  humble  quarter  of  the  town  up  the 
long  slope  of  a  gentle  hill  to  the  family  mansion,  —  the 
most  considerable  house  in  Eiverside,  as  the  Mathers 
were  the  most  considerable  family.  Mrs.  Pemberton  had 
once  exchanged  calls  with  Mrs.  Mather,  and  to  this  day, 
years  after  Mrs.  Mather's  death,  the  Mathers  were  ever 
on  Mrs.  Pemberton's  tongue.  For  that  reason  Jack  might 
have  avoided  the  Mather  place,  but  having  found  one 
summer  day  the  abandoned  pavilion,  and  recognizing  its 
favorable  position  as  a  depository  for  his  loot,  as  well  as 
a  tranquil  retreat  from  storms,  he  had  made  of  it  a  nest 
during  the  summer  while  the  great  wooden  house  on  the 
hill  was  shut.  There,  one  day  in  the  early  autumn,  he 
had  been  surprised  by  the  young  daughter  of  the  people 
on  the  hill,  a  tall,  fair  girl,  and  this  chance  acquaint 
ance,  made  as  child  with  child,  instead  of  driving  him 
from  his  retreat,  rendered  it  the  more  attractive.  Isabelle 
Mather  was  eleven  to  his  thirteen,  and  yet  her  calm  man 
ners,  her  deep,  tranquil  eyes,  and  gentle  voice  gave  her  the 


14  THE  REAL   WORLD 

advantage  of  age.  She  came  and  went  from  the  Eiver« 
side  house,  —  now  to  the  seaside  or  the  mountains,  again 
to  visit  in  New  York,  —  leading  altogether  a  strangely 
pleasant  existence  of  variety  which  the  boy  envied  her. 

Lately  he  had  seen  her  across  Cliff's  rhubarb  beds 
strolling  sedately  near  the  pavilion,  and  he  had  care 
fully  concealed  the  fact  of  her  return  from  Mary,  who 
had  fluttering  ambitions  of  a  girlish  sort  toward  Isa- 
belle.  So  when  these  days  of  interregnum  came,  and  his 
heart  was  heavy  with  the  sultry  imminence  of  some  un 
known  crisis,  he  had  tried  clumsily  to  tell  Isabelle  Mather 
of  the  other  world  which  puzzled  him,  to  see  whether  she 
had  any  knowlege  of  this  double  certainty,  feeling  assured 
that  in  her  larger  experience  the  girl  must  have  oppor 
tunities  denied  to  him.  He  told  her,  then,  of  the  lost 
opera,  of  his  dream  of  what  it  would  have  been.  But 
the  young  girl  looked  at  him  coldly ;  her  blue  eyes  had 
the  glitter  of  winter  water. 

"  Oh !  it  was  very  bad,  papa  said  —  it's  lots  nicer  in 
New  York  and  Paris." 

Forgetting  this  rebuff,  he  went  at  the  thing  again  and 
stumbled  on  unhappy  phrases. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  answered  primly,  with  a  little 
shade  of  disdain  on  her  delicate  face.  The  boy  read  the 
child's  reserve :  "  She  doesn't  want  to  be  intimate  with 
me  —  they  have  told  her  not  to  see  me." 

His  rapid  surmise  was  met  by  her  next  remark :  "  I 
don't  think  you  should  come  here  this  way  through  the 
fence.  It  isn't  —  nice;  you  should  come  to  the  house 
like  our  other  friends." 


THE   REAL   WOULD  15 

Jack's  face  turned  very  red. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  your  house  like  your  other 
friends ! " 

The  little  girl  arranged  her  muslin  skirt  as  she  answered 
haughtily :  — 

"Roger  says  it  isn't  manly  to  sneak  into  people's 
grounds,  and  Roger  says  —  " 

But  catching  sight  of  the  boy's  expression,  she  paused. 
Jack  laughed  disagreeably. 

"  Tell  your  brother  I  don't  care  what  he  thinks.  He's 
like  Steve,  I  guess,"  he  added  with  final  contempt. 

"  Don't  say  that ! "  the  girl  replied  more  gently.  "  I 
am  sorry  —  I,"  —  her  lips  trembled,  —  "I  like  you,  and 
I  want  to  hear  —  oh !  Don't  go  that  way ! " 

But  in  spite  of  this  appeal  he  had  turned  his  back  with 
a  boy's  brusqueness.  She  ran  after  him  a  few  steps,  and 
then  recollecting  her  admirable  manners,  she  stopped  and 
called  regretfully :  "  Do  come  again,  once  more.  I  didn't 
mean  to  hurt  your  feelings." 

From  the  Cliff  side  of  the  fence  Jack  could  see  her 
walking  up  the  gravelled  path,  a  dainty  aristocrat,  mov 
ing  with  instinctive  precision  and  indifference  to  things 
animate.  The  boy  watched  her,  his  heart  angry  and  sad. 
She  might  have  been  unlike  the  others  !  And  he  learned 
from  her  the  lesson  of  caste  —  the  first  and  most  insidi 
ous  poison  that  drops  into  a  child's  heart.  This  was  what 
his  mother  fussed  over.  But  instead  of  sympathizing  with 
her  longings,  he  hated  Isabelle  and  all  the  Mathers,  and 
withdrew  into  the  unfurnished  world  of  his  imagination. 

For  years  the  muslin-clad  figure  of  the  child,  with  her 


16  THE   REAL  WORLD 

hard,  beautiful  blue  eyes  and  dainty -mannered  air,  stood 
in  his  mind  for  the  world  —  the  world  of  other  people  — 
which  his  heart  refused  hotly  to  accept. 

These  days  of  Steve's  disappearance  Jack  had  given  up 
going  to  school,  not  in  defiance  of  authority,  but  from 
the  consciousness  of  disturbed  conditions,  of  impending 
change.  And  the  gloomy  atmosphere  of  his  household 
fascinated  him  strangely.  The  other  world,  to  be  sure, 
was  far  away,  but  the  present  one  did  not  exist  any 
more;  it  was  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other — merely  a 
void  condition  that  must  precede  some  convulsion,  like  the 
sultry,  brooding  moments  that  intervene  between  the  wind 
and  the  rain  of  a  severe  thunderstorm.  A  time  for  much 
speculation,  and  laborious  endeavors  to  understand !  The 
first  passionate  contempt  for  his  father  for  not  rendering 
him  justice,  for  submitting  to  degrading  conditions  of 
family  servitude,  wore  away,  and  the  boy  began  to  feel  a 
kind  of  pity  for  the  stooping,  gray-haired  man,  whose 
irresolute,  dragging  steps  along  the  cinder  path  beside 
the  Pancoast  fence  as  he  went  away  in  the  morning  or 
came  back  at  night  on  his  round  of  lesson-giving,  sounded 
of  defeat.  Jack  did  not  know  what  defeat  meant;  he 
thought  of  it  as  a  complete  surrender  to  the  ordinary 
world  of  things  —  the  rotting  peach  tree,  the  untidy 
yard,  the  scaling  stucco,  the  shabby  mal-adjusted  house. 
And  he  wondered  if  this  portentous  change  would  make 
it  impossible  for  him  too  to  escape  from  what  men  called 
real  —  if  it  would  mean  a  complete  and  eternal  fixing  of 
the  sordid  world  as  it  was. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  17 

This  ignorant  pity  for  his  father  made  him  kinder  and 
more  helpful.  He  ran  errands,  cooked  what  he  could, 
and  refrained  from  announcing  disagreeable  items  of 
news,  such  as  the  doctor's  frequent  visits.  The  fifth 
day  there  came  a  change  in  the  gloomy  house ;  a  letter 
arrived,  —  he  saw  Mary  carry  it  upstairs,  —  and,  later, 
his  mother  came  down,  dressed  in  a  black  gown,  and 
scolded  him  for  not  being  at  school.  Mary  would  say 
nothing  about  the  letter,  but  a  breath  of  action  blew 
through  the  house.  There  was  a  stormy  discussion  in 
the  evening  between  his  father  and  his  mother,  and  his 
father  walked  to  the  telegraph  office  late  at  night.  The 
next  day  Jack  went  to  school,  but  he  could  not  read  a 
word;  he  was  wondering  what  was  going  on  at  home. 
When,  on  his  return,  he  entered  the  dining  room,  he 
heard  voices  in  his  father's  music  room,  which  Steve  was 
allowed  to  \\se  for  a  study  since  he  attended  the  Acad 
emy.  There  was  a  strange  woman's  voice  —  a  deep  bass 
that  he  had  heard  before,  but  could  not  remember  where. 
At  last,  at  the  risk  of  being  snubbed,  he  pushed  open  the 
door  and  crept  into  the  music  room. 

Steve  was  there;  as  Jack  entered,  Steve  winked  at 
him.  By  his  side  sat  a  large,  fair-skinned  woman  dressed 
tidily  in  a  black  gown  with  silk  ribbons  on  her  bonnet. 
His  father  stood  by  the  mantelpiece,  his  head  bowed 
in  his  hand.  His  mother  sat  very  stiff  and  cold  opposite 
Steves  The  stranger  was  saying :  — 

"  Well,  if  it  hain't  been  for  your  tele-gram,  I  said  to  John 
we'd  better  let  the  boy  stay  at  the  farm  and  work  out  his 
keep.  John  was  going  to  write  that  to  Arthur  but  —  " 


18  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Pemberton  might  do,"  his 
mother  interrupted,  in  her  rapid  staccato  tones.  "  But 
I  should  never  consent.  I  don't  want  my  boy  brought 
up  on  a  farm  and  educated  as  a  clodhopper.  We  have 
had  enough  farming  in  the  family,  I  should  think." 

The  large  woman  tossed  her  head  at  the  sneer  in  the 
last  words,  and  retorted :  — 

"  Well,  folks  as  can't  keep  their  children  contented  at 
home  —  " 

"  Mr.  Pemberton,"  Jack's  mother  interrupted  angrily, 
"  will  you  stand  there  and  hear  your  sister-in-law  insult 
your  wife ! " 

"Julia,"  his  father  began  deprecatingly,  raising  his 
hand.  And  at  the  name  there  flashed  into  the  boy's 
mind  a  distant  memory  of  a  visit  to  a  little  white  house, 
a  journey  made  by  steamboat,  a  green  country,  and  a 
large  cheerful  woman,  whom  his  mother  seemed  to  dis 
like  especially,  —  his  Aunt  Julia.  How  did  Steve  and 
Aunt  Julia  come  together !  In  his  excitement  he  walked 
up  to  his  aunt's  side,  and  his  presence  became  known  to 
his  mother. 

"  Go  right  out,  Jack ! "  she  exclaimed  crossly.  "  What 
are  you  sneaking  in  here  for ! "  And  as  Jack  still  lin 
gered,  she  rose  nervously  to  lay  hands  on  him. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Sarah  ? "  his  aunt  interposed  in 
her  broad,  guttural  speech.  "  Jock's  all  right ;  he  wants 
to  see  his  aunt,  —  more'n  the  rest  of  you  seem  to." 

As  no  one  ventured  a  remark,  the  boy  said  impul 
sively  :  — 

"  I  wish  you'd  ask  me  to  go  stay  with  you,  Aunt  Julia, 


THE   REAL   WORLD  19 

if  mother  don't  want  Steve  to  go.  She  won't  care  if  you 
take  me!  I'd  like  to  live  on  the  farm." 

His  excited  mind  already  suggested  that  this  might  be 
the  great  event  which  had  been  in  the  air  these  days. 
His  mother  had  often  said  in  her  accesses  of  bad  temper 
that  he  was  "just  a  Pemberton  over  again,"  and  had 
even  threatened  to  make  his  father  send  him  away  to 
the  country. 

In  the  enthusiasm  of  his  desire  he  felt,  nevertheless, 
the  depressed  sinking  of  his  father's  head  upon  his  hand, 
as  if  some  one  had  suddenly  given  him  an  unexpected 
blow.  His  mother's  lips  drew  together  as  she  ejacu 
lated,  "Heartless!" 

"  Thinks  the  same  way  as  Steve,  it  appears,"  his  Aunt 
Julia  remarked  maliciously,  still  holding  Jack's  hand. 
"  Couldn't  hardly  get  Steve  to  the  station  this  morning." 

So  Steve  had  been  all  these  days  at  Aunt  Julia's! 
Very  far  away  in  Pemberton  Neck  beyond  Portland. 
The  sense  of  mystery  grew,  and  Jack  gripped  his  aunt's 
hand  tighter.  She  kept  on,  having  the  evident  ad 
vantage  :  — 

"  Arthur,  what  do  you  say  ?  John  and  I  want  a  boy 
about.  We  ain't  had  any  children,  and  we  ain't  like  city 
folks  —  we  always  wanted  'em.  Let  us  take  Jock  now, 
leastwise  for  a  time." 

Her  voice  was  conciliatory,  almost  pleading,  and  the 
boy  felt  the  tension  of  the  moment  in  the  stuffy,  furnace- 
heated  room.  It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  Steve,  of 
the  injury  to  him  in  the  opera  matter,  but  of  his  own 
fate  that  was  to  be  decided  by  the  next  words.  His 


20  THE   REAL   WORLD 

mother  broke  in  excitedly:  she  always  carried  every 
thing  in  a  whirlwind  before  sober  people  had  a  chance 
to  weigh  their  ideas ! 

"Mr.  Peraberton,  will  you  not  speak?  Will  you  let 
your  sister-in-law  entice  your  children  away  from  their 
homes  before  your  face  ?  " 

His  father  lifted  his  head  with  a  certain  weary 
dignity. 

"  I  think,  Sarah,  if  the  boys  feel  as  they  do,  perhaps 
it  shows  —  that  it  would  be  best  for  them  to  go." 

Jack  did  not  quite  understand  what  his  father  meant. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  going  away  with  Aunt 
Julia  meant  abandoning  his  family.  There  was  no  time 
for  working  the  matter  out  in  detail ;  his  mother's  tem 
pestuous  tongue  had  broken  loose  once  more :  — 

"That's  like  the  Pembertons  and  the  Maxwells  —  no 
more  spirit  than  barn-mice !  What  if  the  boys  do  want 
to  run  away?  Whose  fault  is  it?  If  you  had  given 
them  a  chance  to  take  their  place  with  n}ce  people,  if 
you  gave  them  any  advantages  — " 

Mr.  Pemberton  waved  his  hand  distractedly,  and  Aunt 
Julia  came  to  his  rescue. 

"Well,  Sarah,  don't  go  over  that  story  again.  We 
hain't  the  time.  I  guess  Arthur  has  done  as  well  by  his 
family  as  most.  Steve  is  going  to  the  Academy,  isn't 
he?" 

Thereupon  Mrs.  Pemberton  poured  out  her  wrath  upon 
the  placid,  florid  woman,  and  there  was  a  jangle  of 
family  charges,  until  Aunt  Julia,  releasing  her  grasp 
of  Jack's  hand,  rose  and  said :  — 


THE  REAL  WORLD  21 

"I  hain't  called  on  to  hear  such  business !  I'll  get  that 
five  o'clock  train,  Arthur,  for  Boston.  How  about  that 
money  the  boys  took  —  " 

At  this  juncture,  Jack  was  pushed  out  of  the  room. 
Not  until  years  after  did  he  learn  all  the  details  of 
Steve's  fight, — how  he  and  another  boy  had  taken  some 
bills  from  the  cash  drawer  in  the  store  kept  by  the  boy's 
father,  and  after  going  to  the  opera  and  spending  most 
of  the  money  in  forbidden  pleasures,  had  started  for 
Pemberton  Neck  with  the  remaining  dollars.  There 
they  had  arrived  two  days  later,  footsore,  penniless,  and 
jubilant,  expecting  a  warm  welcome  from  Uncle  John 
and  Aunt  Julia. 

When  Jack  was  thrust  from  the  room,  his  hopes  some 
what  dashed,  he  took  refuge  in  the  dining  room,  where 
Mary  was  setting  the  table  very  elaborately,  as  for  guests. 
"  I'm  going  back  with  Aunt  Julia,"  he  announced  to  Mary 
importantly,  and  Mary  looked  at  him  in  astonishment  and 
then  cried  a  few  feeble  tears.  Aunt  Julia,  however,  left 
the  house  without  even  asking  to  see  him  again,  refusing 
point  blank  to  sit  down  "in  such  a  scolding  family." 
Mary  had  all  the  labor  of  putting  back  the  best  china  in 
the  parlor  closet,  and  setting  the  table  over  again  more 
simply. 

At  first  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  crisis  had  come  to 
nothing,  that  the  ensuing  vacuum  was  worse  than  the 
old  condition.  But  there  was  a  change,  perceptible  to 
his  awakened  senses,  and  the  change  was  due  to  his  own 
impulsive  words.  Steve  and  Mary,  severally  and  to 
gether,  when  they  wished  to  snub  him,  accused  him  of 


22  THE   REAL  WORLD 

disloyalty,  of  cruelly  wounding  their  father  and  mother. 
And  as  he  pondered  on  the  scene  in  the  study,  and  gath 
ered  up  the  bitter  words  let  fall  at  the  table  or  in  the 
heat  of  argument  between  his  parents,  he  came  to  see 
that  the  crisis  had  really  taken  place,  —  that  these  older 
people,  with  their  larger  freedom,  their  opportunities, 
had  seen  clearly,  cruelly,  the  wreck  of  this  family  life. 
Perhaps  for  the  first  time  both  had  understood  what  it 
meant,  their  perpetual  wrangling,  and  accusation,  and 
discontent:  with  the  elements  of  their  experience  they 
had  created  this  unreal  world,  —  unlovely,  harsh,  sor 
did,  —  out  of  which  the  young  beings  sprung  from  their 
loins  had  wished  to  flee,  as  the  vine  reaches  up  from 
shade  to  light.  And  they  saw  that  their  world  of  discord 
existed,  once  created :  they  could  never  build  it  afresh. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  little  scene  in  the  study  marked  the  beginning 
of  the  end  in  the  music-teacher's  family.  For  months 
thereafter  the  jarring  tempers  of  the  household  were 
more  subdued :  in  their  place  succeeded  a  sour  silence 
as  of  despair.  From  this  time  the  boy  began  to  piece 
together  the  fragments  of  talk  that  had  hitherto  fallen 
on  unheeding  ears.  Little  by  little  he  learned  certain 
facts  about  the  family.  His  father's  people  had  been 
poor  farmers  in  a  seacoast  village  of  Maine,  and  his 
mother  never  let  her  children  forget  that  she  had  been 
a  Kussell,  third  cousin  of  the  Burton  Russells ;  that  her 
father  had  been  the  leading  lawyer  of  Coffin's  Falls; 
and  that  her  brother  was  the  pastor  of  the  largest  church 
in  that  New  Hampshire  town.  Years  later,  when  the 
boy  saw  for  the  first  time  the  "  Russell  place,"  -a  neat 
little  house  on  the  outskirts  of  Coffin's  Falls,  with  its  own 
little  drive  and  stable,  he  failed  to  perceive  the  magni 
tude  of  difference  that  in  his  mother's  eyes  had  sepa 
rated  the  family  of  Pemberton  Neck  from  the  family  of 
Coffin's  Falls.  His  youthful  imagination  had  pictured 
the  prim  little  wooden  house  as  an  opulent  brick  man 
sion  lying  in  the  midst  of  ancestral  acres. 

The  other  triumphs  of  the  Russells  also  lost  their 
glamom  as  he  grew  to  know  the  world.  The  case  before 

23 


24  THE   REAL  WORLD 

the  Supreme  Court  at  "Washington,  the  term  in  the  New 
Hampshire  legislature,  the  visit  to  some  New  York  Kus- 
sells, —  isolated  points  of  bravery  in  a  prolonged  term 
of  Coffin's  Falls, — were  a  meagre  enough  glory.  Even 
the  two  years  in  the  Boston  boarding  school,  where  his 
mother  had  met  his  father,  did  not  indicate  a  position  of 
grandeur.  However  petty  these  differences  might  seem 
to  Jack,  years  later,  they  were  vital  to  the  disappointed 
woman,  and  accepted  by  her  family.  Her  husband  had 
agreed  to  them,  and  that  was  most  essential. 

About  his  father  the  information  gathered  at  this 
period  was  less  fruitful.  Beyond  the  taunt  of  being  a 
farmer's  son,  a  "clodhopper,"  there  was  little  to  learn 
concerning  Mr.  Pernberton  or  his  family.  It  was  unsafe 
to  mention  the  Pembertons  in  the  house  on  clear  days. 
Aunt  Julia,  a  woman  from  Prince  Edward  Island,  of 
immediate  English  extraction,  was  ridiculed  as  illiterate 
and  boorish.  His  father  never  mentioned  the  Pember 
tons  in  public.  Surreptitkmsly,  when  less  heavy-hearted 
than  usual,  he  would  speak  to  Jack  of  Pemberton  Neck, 
of  the  sweet-smelling  northern  woods,  the  cold  black 
seas ;  the  boy  learned  to  drop  these  reminiscences  when 
his  mother  appeared,  as  he  learned  to  shuffle  out  of  sight 
an  old  copy  of  Painter's  Palace  of  Pleasure  when  asked 
on  Sundays  if  he  had  by  heart  his  collect  and  epistle. 

But  before  his  father  died  he  heard  the  story  of  the 
great  effort  the  Pemberton  family  had  made,  years 
earlier,  to  thrust  its  one  aspiring  member  into  prom 
inence, —  of  the  two  years  at  a  country  college,  the 
ambitions  in  music,  the  glorious  days  of  early  success  in 


THE   REAL   WORLD  25 

Boston,  the  dreams  of  foreign  study,  —  put  aside  by  a 
hasty  marriage  after  a  three-months'  acquaintance,  and 
finally  abandoned  as  the  cares  of  life  overtook  the  buoy 
ant  young  man  one  by  one  and  laid  hands  on  his  aspir 
ing  march.  Once,  on  an  occasion  when  Mrs.  Pemberton 
was  away  from  the  house,  his  father  had  even  dug  out 
some  old  manuscripts  and  had  consented  to  play  over  the 
forgotten  strains  of  his  cantata,  —  The  Song  of  Solomon. 
The  yellowed  sheets  bent  limply  in  the  piano  rack ;  Jack 
had  held  them,  while  his  father,  first  stumbling  over  the 
dim  notes,  then  gathering  courage  and  memory,  swept 
on  through  the  mazes  of  his  ancient  dream.  The  boy 
never  forgot  that  perception  of  his  father.  The  bowed 
head  straightened,  the  faded  blue  eyes  flashed  and  then 
closed ;  the  years  of  sordid  care,  of  miserable  incapacity 
before  life,  slipped  away ;  and  he  played  as  a  young  man 
with  the  visions  of  the  cities  of  youth  stretched  before  him. 
No  music  that  Jack  was  to  hear  would  ever  have  the 
peculiar  poignancy,  the  grandiose  beauty  of  that  un 
finished  cantata.  Suddenly  it  came  to  an  abrupt  end, 
as  if  the  manuscript  had  been  torn  across  by  some 
ignorant  hand. 

"  I  was  going  to  London,  when  it  was  finished,"  Mr. 
Pemberton  had  said  quietly  in  explanation.  And  the 
boy  had  sense  enough  not  to  probe  farther. 

On  this  occasion  he  had  seen  also  copies  of  published 
compositions,  —  songs  and  waltzes,  adaptations  of  ora 
torios,  arrangements  for  church  music,  —  a  thick  sheaf  in 
all.  The  sheets  bore  old  dates  and  the  names  of  forgot 
ten  publishers. 


26  THE   REAL   WOELD 

"They  do  these  things  better  now,"  Mr.  Pemberton 
said,  throwing  the  music  back  into  the  drawer  from 
which  he  had  unearthed  it. 

"  Why  don't  you  write  some  new  ones  ?  "  Jack  asked. 

"I  haven't  anything  to  say  —  leastwise  what  is  lift 
ing,  and  the  world  wants  only  lifting  things,  Jack." 

Jack  understood. 

Yet  his  father  remained  to  him  for  years  afterward  a 
mystery.  He  knew  that  earlier  the  family  prospects  had 
been  much  brighter ;  at  first  his  father  had  had  an  organ 
in  a  church  near  Boston.  And  even  when  for  some 
reason  he  had  moved  to  this  smaller  town,  where  he  was 
chief  organist  in  the  place,  there  had  been  more  money, 
more  ease,  than  now.  Pupils  had  come  to  him  from  the 
surrounding  towns,  and  he  had  been  accounted  a  success 
ful  teacher.  Latterly  they  had  fallen  off,  and  he  had 
been  obliged  to  take  a  smaller  place  as  organist,  for  his 
wife  had  offended  the  people  of  the  old  church,  and  had 
sent  away  some  of  his  best  pupils  in  a  huff.  Now,  each 
year  revealed  the  further  disintegration  of  his  affairs. 
Yet  even  the  boy  knew  that  these  obvious  facts  did  not 
explain.  There  was  a  secret  mystery  of  character,  some 
fundamentally  sapping  decay  of  tissue,  —  of  old  standing, 
but  recent  manifestations.  Even  the  boy  felt  that  a 
sound-looking  ship  does  not  founder  at  the  first  blows  of 
the  waves,  crumbling  from  one  shock  into  the  sea.  Be 
neath  the  fair  decks  and  stout  masts  there  must  be  rotting 
timber,  which  had  undone  the  ship  before  it  sailed  from 
port. 

With  this  sense  of  mystery  about  his  father's  career, 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  27 

this  inexplicable  failure  before  the  common  trials  of  life, 
the  boy  grew  to  have  a  special  knowledge  and  affection 
for  the  man.  Throughout  his  life  he  would  see  the 
weary,  dragging  figure  as  it  came  along  the  Pancoasts' 
fence,  its  fallen  shoulders,  its  untidy  shock  of  gray  hair, 
its  long  arms  with  bent,  tapering  fingers,  and  the  face 
that  never  smiled,  but  seemed  always  blind.  He  would 
see,  also,  the  upthrown  head,  the  strong  body  movements, 
when  the  man  played  the  cantata.  Thus  his  father  was 
curiously  two  persons, — a  man  of  youth  and  a  man  of  age. 
And  their  relations  were  likewise  double.  For  he  felt 
sure  that  his  father  had  known  the  other  world,  perhaps 
even  better  than  he  had.  The  cantata  seemed  a  pure 
burst  of  light  from  the  beautiful  skies  of  that  silent  land. 
But,  somehow,  inexplicably,  the  man  had  become  involved 
in  what  people  called  real,  and  had  let  those  ugly  facts 
reported  by  the  common  senses  of  man  get  hold  of  him, 
until  the  boy  doubted  if  he  ever  wholly  escaped  from 
them  now.  Father  and  son  never  discussed  the  matter, 
but  words  let  fall  as  they  worked  together  in  the  kitchen, 
mornings  and  evenings,  washing  dishes,  preparing  toast 
or  broiling  meat,  made  the  boy  sure  it  had  not  always 
been  with  the  man's  soul  as  it  was  now. 

The  dissolution  of  the  Pemberton  family  took  three 
years.  During  this  time  Jack  was  attending  the  public 
school ;  there  was  no  money  to  send  him  to  the  Academy 
as  Steve,  had  been  sent.  He  detested  his  school  life. 
He  was  shabbily  dressed,  usually  in  clothes  too  small  for 
his  large  frame,  and  the  boys  he  would  have  liked  to 
know  drew  away  from  him,  as  if  warned  at  home  of  his 


28  THE   HEAL  WORLD 

social  degeneracy.  He  had  shot  up  into  a  large,  black- 
haired,  brown-skinned  youth,  —  "a  clodhopper  Pember- 
ton,"  his  mother  said,  —  and  he  cursed  his  lengthening 
shadow  for  its  ungainly  appearance. 

The  shabby,  shrunken  clothes  were  not  so  much  the 
cause  of  his  loneliness  as  the  gradual  social  descent  of 
the  family.  The  aristocracy  of  the  town  was  formed  by 
the  faculties  of  the  Academy  and  of  the  Theological 
Seminary,  together  with  a  few  large  mill-owners,  all  of 
whom  lived  on  the  "Hill."  That  the  Pembertons  had 
slipped  from  their  first  uncertain  position  with  these  hill 
people  was  due,  so  Mrs.  Pemberton  reiterated,  to  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Pemberton  persisted  in  keeping  the  Pan- 
coast  Lane  house.  There  had  been  talk  for  years  of 
moving  up  the  hill  away  from  the  humbler  trades-people 
of  the  lane.  This  subject  had  been  the  seed  of  much 
family  strife.  As  the  Pembertons  were  usually  behind 
with  their  rent,  and  rents  were  much  higher  on  the  hill, 
they  had  never  left  Pancoast's  Lane.  Latterly,  even 
Mrs.  Pemberton  had  given  up  agitating  the  question. 

The  last  hope  of  social  rehabilitation  had  been  Steve. 
He  had  been  sent  to  the  Academy,  and  furnished  with 
smart  clothes.  He  was  a  pretty,  pert  boy,  and  he  grew 
to  be  a  pretty  young  man  of  a  common  American  type, 
with  glossy  blond  hair  that  he  brushed  smooth  and  parted 
in  the  middle,  pretty  red  cheeks  and  brown  eyes,  and  a 
little  curling  brown  mustache.  His  coloring  was  Rus 
sell,  his  mother  said,  and  his  form  not  too  heavy  to  be 
Russell  also.  His  beauty  was  of  a  chromo  type  that 
was  very  seductive  to  young  women,  and  he  had  begun 


THE   REAL  WORLD  29 

to  "  have  girls  "  before  he  was  sixteen.  Unfortunately 
he  gravitated  toward  the  more  common  families  of  the 
valley,  where  he  was  very  popular.  When  he  was  seven 
teen,  having  failed  to  pass  from  one  class  to  another, 
he  left  the  Academy,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  go  into  business.  Thereupon  he  loafed  about  the 
town  for  several  months,  getting  into  various  small 
scrapes  of  a  vulgar  kind;  then  he  entered  a  mill  as  a 
clerk.  He  became  very  "dressy,"  and  smoked  cigars. 
It  was  known  that  he  had  been  drunk  once  or  twice. 
His  mother,  who  hoped  now  that  he  might  make  money, 
helped  out  his  small  salary  with  occasional  five-dollar 
bills,  scolded  from  her  husband,  and  contrived  to  hide 
his  cheap  little  excesses. 

The  five-dollar  bills  were  harder  and  harder  to  get, 
even  after  the  shrillest  outbursts,  the  fiercest  taunts,  for 
the  music  teacher  was  laboring  hard,  pressed  on  all  sides, 
breathing  heavily,  with  the  bloodshot  eyes  of  the  human 
animal  in  his  last  covert.  Ann,  the  servant,  never  came 
back.  Mary  and  Jack  and  their  father  did  most  of  the 
housework.  The  old  corduroy -covered  furniture  accumu 
lated  holes  and  grease  spots;  nothing  was  renewed. 
Finally  the  music  teacher  dragged  himself  home  one  day 
and  lay  down  on  the  sofa-bed  in  the  study :  he  never  got 
up  again.  The  doctor  came  and  said  things,  and  Mary 
went  for  the  medicines.  But  Jack,  when  he  returned 
from  school  and  saw  his  father  lying  motionless  beside 
the  window,  his  face  turned  to  the  wall,  knew  that  the 
end  of  the  crisis  was  coming. 

For  a  week  Mrs.  Pemberton  did  not  come  downstairs, 


30  THE   REAL   WORLD 

convinced  that  this  reported  sickness  was  sulkiness  or 
laziness.  Finally,  the  doctor  went  upstairs,  and  said 
some  brutal  things  before  leaving  the  house.  Then  she 
went  downstairs  and  looked  at  the  sick  man.  As  she 
entered  the  room,  he  turned  his  head  to  the  wall,  as  if 
to  dodge  a  blow  or  to  gather  his  courage  for  an  impend 
ing  assault.  But  she  was  tamed  by  the  doctor's  words,  — 
the  doctor  who  had  been  her  old  ally,  her  one  thread  of 
connection  with  the  Hill,  —  and  for  the  six  weeks  that 
her  husband  lived  thereafter  she  nursed  him  in  a  kind 
of  exaltation,  of  romantic  devotion,  with  tears  and 
smothered  exclamations,  as  she  had  married  him  nine 
teen  years  before.  All  of  which  feeling  he  seemed  to 
take  gratefully,  much  to  Jack's  disgust.  The  boy  was 
bitter  and  passionate  for  his  father,  who  had  spent  his 
spirit  and  was  cravenly  resigned.  Jack  wanted  to  take 
his  mother  and  thrust  her  out  of  the  room,  hissing  at 
her,  "  Too  late,  too  late.  No  acting  here.  Go  to  church 
and  weep,  and  order  your  crgpe  bonnet.  This  man  must 
die  in  peace  ! " 

She  felt  the  boy's  antagonism,  and  rebuked  it  by  send 
ing  him  on  long  errands  with  useless  letters  to  the 
doctor,  thus  keeping  him  out  of  the  sick-room  as  much 
as  possible.  Toward  the  end,  however,  he  had  to  be 
allowed  to  stay  with  the  sick  man  while  other  members 
of  the  family  were  busy  or  slept.  One  such  occasion,  — 
it  was  dusk  of  a  fine  April  day,  —  he  sat  by  the  open 
window,  watching  the  unearthly  fog  steal  like  enchant 
ment  over  the  Pancoast  garden,  blotting  out  the  dusty 
wooden  cottages  of  the  lane  and  the  freshly  budding 


THE   REAL   WORLD  31 

cherry  trees.  His  father  had  not  spoken  for  hours,  but 
he  rarely  said  anything  lately,  merely  moved  his  hand  and 
pointed  for  what  he  wanted.  The  misty  landscape  was 
stealing  hypnotic  fingers  over  the  boy,  when  he  heard  his 
father's  voice  say  feebly :  — 

"Jack!" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Come  here." 

Jack  put  the  window  down  and  went  over  to  the 
bedside. 

"  You  remember  the  music  ?  " 

Jack  nodded,  a  lump  in  his  throat. 

"  Get  it  out  of  the  drawer." 

Jack  obeyed,  his  hands  trembling  as  they  fumbled 
among  the  cluttered  contents  of  the  deep  drawer.  He 
found  the  yellowed  sheets  rolled  up  and  tied  with  a  piece 
of  twine,  and  put  them  on  the  bed  beside  his  father's 
hand.  The  long,  bony,  hairy  fingers,  unnaturally  whi 
tened  by  illness,  stretched  out  and  took  the  sheets,  and 
brought  them  near  the  eyes.  He  could  not  read  the 
notes. 

"  You  can't  play  it,"  his  father  said,  with  a  sigh. 

The  boy  half  groaned.  His  mother  had  forbidden  his 
learning  to  play  any  instrument,  not  wishing  her  sons 
to  foljow  their  father's  footsteps. 

"  Well,  then,  burn  them."  And  as  the  boy  still  hesi 
tated,  averse  thus  to  wipe  out  the  last  record  of  his 
father's  might,  the  sick  man  said  irritably,  "  Burn  them 
at  once,"  and  shoved  the  pages  off  the  bed. 

Jack  took  the  loose  sheets  to  the  fireplace  and  touched 


32  THE   REAL  WORLD 

a  match  to  them.  His  father  raised  himself  slightly 
and  looked  at  the  flaming  paper  until  the  wan,  powdery 
ashes  swirled  up  the  chimney.  The  sudden  flame  lit  up 
his  bristly  face  and  bony  arms.  A  grotesque  figure,  an 
irony  of  life,  a  triumph  of  the  real ! 

The  boy  shuddered  unconsciously.  His  father  said 
weakly,  after  the  flames  had  died  down :  — 

"  Come  here.     I  want  to  say  something." 

Jack  obeyed,  kneeling  by  the  bedside  to  catch  the 
faint  tones  of  the  fading  voice. 

"  Remember,  Jack,"  his  father  whispered,  "  your  time 
is  coming  to  choose  —  temptation  —  older  —  " 

The  feeble  tones  died  out,  and  the  head  sank  back  as 
if  too  exhausted  to  shape  the  wandering  thoughts  of  a 
sick  mind  into  intelligible  words.  Perhaps,  feeling  at 
the  very  end  the  inutility  of  speech,  the  final  feebleness 
of  the  best  chosen  words,  he  had  given  over  the  desire 
to  explain,  to  exhort,  and  resigned  his  son  to  life. 

When  Jack  saw  that  his  father  had  changed  his  mind, 
he  went  back  to  his  chair  by  the  window,  haunted  by 
the  mystery  of  this  life  that  was  dying  out  so  close  to 
him,  wondering  what  that  message  to  him  might  have 
been,  baffled  as  of  old  by  his  perception  of  the  wanton 
wreck  that  life  had  made.  The  mist  had  shut  in  thick 
and  white  about  the  house,  cutting  off  the  cherry  trees 
not  ten  feet  from  the  window,  hemming  in  the  silent 
room  in  a  great  waste  of  the  unknown.  The  phenomena 
of  the  world, — those  that  he  shared  with  others,  —  the 
streets,  the  houses,  the  fences,  the  furniture  of  life,  with 
their  common  angular  aspects,  slipped  away  like  sand 


THE   REAL   WORLD  33 

running  through  the  fingers.  There  was  left  a  void,  — 
enveloping,  awful,  consolatory,  —  out  of  which  sounded 
the  past,  as  sounds  the  gurgle  of  rushing  waters  in  the 
ears  of  the  diver.  The  world  that  others  saw  did  not 
exist,  nor  as  yet  another  world,  mere  strangeness  .  .  . 

"  Jack !  "  He  heard  his  mother's  voice,  with  a  new 
note  in  it.  "  Your  father  is  dead ! " 

She  shrieked  and  fell  sobbing  beside  the  inert  form. 

Jack  rose  from  his  chair,  stumbled  as  in  a  dark  and 
whirling  room  of  unfamiliar  things.  He  saw  the  white, 
exhausted  face  of  the  sleeping  man.  And  the  boy  was 
silent,  —  strangely  content  that  it  should  be  so. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  WHY  don't  you  cry  ?  "  Mary  demanded  impatiently 
between  two  sobs.  "  You  haven't  cried  once  since  father 
died,  and  mother  says  you're  heartless." 

Jack  looked  at  the  girl  resentfully  out  of  his  burning 
eye's  and  left  the  room.  He  could  not  endure  the  general 
tears  of  the  household.  Even  Steve,  who  had  kept  away 
from  the  sick-room  much  of  the  time,  had  red  eyes  these 
days  and  a  broken  voice.  Jack  knew  that  they  all  de 
spised  him,  even  his  Uncle  Talbot,  who  had  been  sum 
moned  from  Coffin's  Falls  by  his  mother,  and  her  cousin, 
Anne  Russell,  who  had  also  felt  bound  to  respond  to  the 
family  call.  They  did  not  perceive  as  he  did  the  hideous- 
ness  of  loud  lamentations  over  this  soothing  passing 
from  a  grim  unreality  to  a  gentle  unreality.  The  dead 
man,  he  knew,  would  feel  as  he  felt.  The  others  missed, 
as  they  had  always  missed,  the  right  interpretation  of 
things.  They  might  at  least  leave  him  alone  to  struggle 
with  the  besetting  shades  of  life,  to  gain  some  terra 
firma  of  reality  !  Since  that  misty  April  night  when  he 
had  listened  for  his  father's  last  words,  he  had  been  drift 
ing  in  a  sea  of  sleep,  clutching  now  and  again  at  a 
thought  that  promised  support. 

When  Aunt  Julia  and  Uncle  John  arrived,  he  had  felt 
sympathy  with  their  sober,  repressed  grief.  Their  pres- 

34 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  35 

ence  divided  the  little  house  of  mourning  into  two  camps  : 
the  Russells  were  laboriously  courteous  and  distant,  and 
the  two  old  country  people  were  evidently  ill  at  ease. 
Jack  noticed  the  division  and  openly  joined  the  weaker 
party,  spending  his  time  with  them,  scarcely  speaking  to 
his  mother's  relatives.  He  knew  that  the  Russells  looked 
at  his  shabby  clothes  and  commented  on  his  table-man 
ners,  and  condoled  with  his  mother  over  him  as  one  of 
her  evident  trials.  At  the  family  council,  held  shortly 
after  the  funeral,  he  was  excluded ;  he  learned  from  Mary's 
remarks  that  his  fate  had  been  settled  by  a  high-handed 
edict.  He  was  to  accompany  his  mother  and  Mary  to 
Coffin's  Falls  and  find  a  place  there  in  some  store.  Steve 
was  to  remain  in  his  present  place  until  the  Russell 
influence  could  be  exerted  toward  obtaining  a  better 
position  in  Boston  or  New  York. 

"I  won't  go,"  Jack  announced  to  Mary,  unpassion- 
ately.  "  If  the  family  is  like  him,  I  don't  want  to  live  in 
the  same  town  with  'em."  And  careless  of  Mary's  pro 
tests,  he  went  to  seek  out  his  Aunt  Julia  and  Uncle  John. 

"Aunt  Julia,"  he  demanded,  "will  you  take  me  back 
with  you  ?  It  won't  be  long  before  I  can  earn  my  living, 
and  I  can  help  Uncle  John.  If  you  don't  —  " 

But  his  threat  was  never  uttered,  for  the  dumpy  old 
Englishwoman  replied  in  her  soft,  rolling  utterance: 
"Why,  Jock,  your  uncle  and  I  thought  maybe  you'd 
come  to  us,  but  your  mother's  folks  were  so  sot  agin  it 
and  mortal  proud  that  John  got  in  a  huff  and  wouldn't 
say  a  word." 

The  boy  closed  his  lips  doggedly,  and  said  no  more  to 


86  THE  REAL  WORLD 

his  aunt.  When  the  Reverend  Talbot  Eussell  entered 
the  room,  Jack  turned  to  him. 

"  I'm  going  to  Maine  with  my  uncle  and  aunt,  Uncle 
Talbot,"  he  announced  without  parley. 

"You're  very  abrupt,  my  boy,"  the  tall  clergyman 
answered,  an  icy  smile  creeping  over  his  waxy  face. 
"That  is  not  the  way  to  reject  the  kind  offices  of  your 
relatives,  who  offer  you  the  advantages  of  life." 

But  he  made  no  further  objections  to  Jack's  decision. 
Doubtless  he  argued  that  there  would  be  one  less  un 
fortunate  for  the  Russells  to  protect,  and  that  a  lad  with 
such  loutish  instincts  as  to  prefer  these  illiterate  people 
to  the  society  of  Coffin's  Falls  would  scarce  become  a 
source  of  family  pride. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  after  Jack  had  helped  to  pack 
the  furniture  of  the  Pancoast  Lane  house  he  was  to 
take  the  coast  steamboat  from  Boston  and  follow  his  aunt 
and  uncle  to  Pemberton  Neck.  These  were  not  pleasant 
days :  his  mother  and  Steve  let  him  see  how  wanting  in 
"  family  feeling  "  he  had  shown  himself.  They  taunted 
him  with  the  homeliness  of  the  farmer-folk  whose  lot 
he  had  chosen.  The  boy  was  made  to  feel  that  he  was 
abandoning  his  caste  in  the  world  and  wilfully  sinking  to 
a  low  level  —  the  level  of  neighbor  Cliff,  or,  worse,  old 
man  Cliff's  hired  man,  —  dirty,  tobacco-chewing  Mike. 
Isabelle  Mather  would  avoid  him  more  than  ever !  But 
Jack  held  his  tongue,  and  worked  away  stolidly  at  the 
barrels  and  boxes. 

This  tearing  to  pieces  of  the  home  —  the  only  habita- 


THE  REAL  WORLD  37 

tion  he  had  ever  known  —  was  a  grim  dismemberment 
of  some  stage-scene.  The  play  that  had  been  enacted 
there  could  never  be  repeated.  The  boy  was  somehow 
glad  of  that :  it  had  been  a  gloomy  mistake.  None  the 
less  was  it  a  solemn  thing  to  dismember  this  past,  to  lay 
away  the  broken  elements  of  what  had  been.  These 
household  things  once  dislodged  and  scattered,  the  last 
signs  of  that  little  world  which  his  people  took  for 
real,  in  which  his  life  had  been  set,  would  pass  like  smoke 
into  the  vast  heavens.  As  he  worked,  he  thought  of  his 
father,  —  he  knew  not  where, — and  he  was  sure  that  he 
was  content  to  have  the  painful  scene  through  which  he 
had  toiled,  dispersed. 

The  last  night  he  was  summoned  from  the  kitchen, 
where  he  was  tying  together  pots  and  kettles,  to  the  de 
nuded  dining  room.  Steve  and  Mary  were  sitting  on  the 
barrels  and  boxes.  His  mother  had  been  crying. 

"John,"  she  sobbed,  "you  can  go  to-morrow  morning 
with  us  as  far  as  Boston  —  since  you  have  made  up  your 
mind  to  abandon  your  family." 

Jack's  jaw  dropped  sullenly.  He  hated  the  injustice 
of  woman's  logic. 

"  You're  a  great  fool,  Jack,  to  leave  your  mother  and 
sister,"  Steve  added,  "and  go  down  there  with  those 
people." 

"  I  guess  you  don't  want  me  much ! "  Jack  retorted 
defensively. 

"  How  can  you  say  that ! "  Mary  exclaimed  tearfully. 

"I  always  said  you  were  a  Pemberton  —  or  a  Max 
well."  (The  Maxwells  were  his  father's  mother's  people, 


38  THE   REAL   WORLD 

a  degree  lower  in  Mrs.  Pemberton's  estimation  than  th» 
Pembertons.) 

"  I'm  glad  I  am  a  Pemberton,"  Jack  answered  hotly. 
He  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  be  a  Pemberton,  but  he 
wished  to  strike  out  in  loyalty  to  his  father.  "  And  I 
don't  see  as  Steve  is  doing  such  an  awful  lot  for  you  or 
Mary." 

Steve  cast  one  contemptuous  glance  at  the  boy,  and 
rolled  his  cigar  between  his  lips. 

"  Some  day  you'll  see  the  mistake  —  you'll  wish  you 
weren't  a  clodhopper." 

"  I  won't  be  a  clodhopper,"  the  boy  answered  sullenly, 
with  a  quick  resolve  to  justify  his  choice. 

As  they  went  to  bed,  Jack  shyly  pulled  his  sister  into 
his  room,  and  said  to  her :  — 

"  I  didn't  mean  you,  Mary.  I'm  sorry  I  shan't  be  with 
you." 

"  But  you  trouble  mother  so ! "  Mary  responded  se 
verely. 

The  next  morning,  however,  Mary  went  out  to  the 
Cliffs'  garden  and  brought  in  a  rose  that  she  persisted  in 
pinning  to  the  lapel  of  Jack's  abbreviated  coat.  Mary 
was  punctilious  about  the  sentiments.  When  they  were 
on  the  train  for  Boston,  Mrs.  Pemberton  put  aside  the 
thick  veil  she  had  drawn  over  her  face,  and  called  Jack 
to  her. 

"  Here  is  a  prayer-book  and  hymnal,"  she  said,  with  a 
choking  voice.  "  I  hope  you'll  attend  your  own  church, 
and  not  that  meeting-house  where  the  Pembertons  go." 

These  were  the  last  words  that  he  remembered  after- 


THE    KEAL   WORLD  39 

wards  his  mother  had  spoken  to  him.  Then  he  had 
merely  slipped  the  little  books  into  his  pocket  with  a 
feeling  of  nausea  at  the  religious  counsel.  What  was 
religion  good  for,  if  it  did  not  make  people  gentler, 
kinder  ?  And  he  had  never  seen  it  do  that  in  his  home. 
Later,  when  experience  had  led  him  a  little  farther  into 
the  secrets  of  his  family  life,  he  regarded  these  words 
more  tolerantly,  trying  to  understand  the  curious  relation 
that  religion  has  to  the  conduct  of  a  woman  like  his 
mother.  That  night,  as  he  stood  on  the  deck  of  the 
steamboat  and  watched  the  harbor  lights  wink  dimly  in 
the  spring  fog,  he  tried  to  think  what  was  really  true. 
Was  he  heartless  in  resolving  to  leave  his  mother  and 
Mary  ?  He  was  sorry  to  leave  Mary,  —  he  was  sure  of 
that,  —  and  later  he  might  be  sorry  to  have  left  his 
mother.  But  just  now  the  solace  of  loneliness  was  infi 
nite.  That  curious  panorama  that  people  had  called  his 
world  for  sixteen  years  was  fading  into  the  gloom,  as  the 
buildings  of  the  retreating  city  shrouded  themselves  in 
the  night.  That  was  not  real,  could  not  be  real,  the  boy 
told  himself.  The  only  real  thing  had  been  his  father, 
and  he,  too,  had  gone,  half-explained,  a  sweetly  sad 
puzzle.  He  was  left,  pushing  on  like  this  vessel  into  the 
damp,  dark  sea  beyond  the  land.  .  .  . 

Early  the  next  morning  he  roused  himself  in  the  stuffy 
air  of  the  lower  cabin.  Picking  his  way  among  the  pros 
trate,  snoring  figures  that  were  scattered  over  the  floor,  he 
went  on  deck.  The  boat  was  slowly  steaming  up  the  coast 
between  green  islands.  The  sun  that  had  barely  peeped 
above  the  horizon  had  not  burned  away  the  morning  mist, 


40  THE   REAL  WORLD 

which  hung  in  huge,  fantastic  wreaths  over  the  wooded 
shores  and  bathed  the  vessel  in  gleaming  dew.  The  air 
was  soft  and  damp ;  the  water,  which  the  blunt  prow  cut 
almost  without  a  ripple,  was  cold  and  black.  Little  dusky- 
edged  waves  from  the  wake  of  the  steamer  nibbled  the 
rocky  shores  of  the  islands. 

No  one  was  stirring  except  the  silent  pilot  in  the  wheel- 
house,  who  from  time  to  time  with  an  apparent  uncon 
sciousness  moved  the  electric  indicator  under  his  hand, 
as  one  by  one  the  landmarks  of  the  course  came  into  view. 
When  the  mist  rose  higher  on  the  land,  there  emerged 
green  fields  surrounding  white  cottages,  with  sometimes 
a  rude  granite  pier.  The  early  cocks  hailed  the  boat; 
their  jubilant  notes  rang  with  strange  familiarity  across, 
the  silent  water.  Far  away  to  the  south  the  rays  of  a 
belated  light  vied  with  the  beams  of  the  sun.  The  steam 
boat  passed  on,  sweeping  in  graceful  curves  from  thor 
oughfare  to  thoroughfare,  silent  except  for  the  human 
respiration  of  its  boiler,  steadily  cleaving  its  way  in  the 
still  morning  into  the  voiceless  lands  of  the  future. 

As  the  sun  rose  higher,  the  resinous  perfume  from  the 
fir-covered  islands  floated  out  to  the  expectant  boy,  and  he 
breathed  deeply  the  spicy  wine  of  the  north  coast.  The 
sun  drove  the  fog- wreaths  higher  and  higher  up  the  hills 
behind  the  islands,  until  they  rested  in  the  dimpled  sur 
faces  of  their  crests.  These  hills,  bathed  in  purple  to 
their  feet  which  touched  the  water,  their  heads  crowned 
with  the  white  fog,  impressive  in  their  morning  loveli 
ness,  were  the  most  beautiful  things  the  boy  had  ever  seen. 
Purple  and  gold  and  white  and  green,  the  forest-covered 


THE  HEAL   WORLD  41 

coast  hills  marched,  step  by  step,  to  the  unclouded  sky 
above !  This,  Jack  thought,  had  been  his  father's  home. 
He  seemed  to  feel  him  standing  by  his  side,  his  chest 
heaving  with  the  large  air  of  his  youth,  his  head  erect  to 
the  hills,  —  as  he  had  seen  him  once  when  he  played 
over  his  old  cantata.  In  the  still  morning  air  the  tri 
umphant  notes  of  the  Song  of  Solomon  floated  out  from 
the  spice-laden  islands,  filling  the  cool  emptiness  of 
the  spacious  sea  with  its  longing  and  hope. 

"  There's  Pemberton  Neck,"  the  pilot  said  to  the  boy, 
leaning  out  of  his  open  window  as  the  steamboat  swung 
around  the  black  nose  of  a  little  island  into  an  open  bay. 

The  merest  ruffle  of  the  wind  stirred  the  waters,  send 
ing  a  white  streak  like  teeth  upon  the  island's  shore. 
The  chill  black  water  threw  off  a  scent  of  the  ocean 
that  cut  the  warm  spice  of  the  firs.  Across  the  bay, 
immediately  in  the  path  of  the  steamboat,  a  finger  of 
land  curved  out  to  the  ocean.  Jack  gazed  entranced  at 
the  dim  line  of  rocks  that  marked  it  off  from  the  sea. 
There  had  been  his  father's  home ;  his,  now,  where  life 
was  to  be  made. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  YELLOW  map  of  the  county,  dated  1850,  hung  in  the 
tiny  hall  of  the  Pemberton  house.  Its  broad  surface 
enlarged  the  little  section  of  Maine  coast  to  the  propor 
tions  of  a  German  kingdom.  Jack  studied  every  inch 
of  it,  tracing  out  the  bays  that  cut  like  long  fingers  into 
the  land,  following  the  rambling  roads  as  they  wound 
around  the  heads  of  the  bays,  across  the  hills,  and  finally 
disappeared  into  the  adjacent  counties.  Every  house 
holder  of  that  date  had  his  name  and  homestead  indi 
cated  upon  the  map.  Along  the  shore  of  Green  Bay,  the 
east  defence  of  which  was  the  curving  peninsula  of  Pem 
berton  Neck,  the  Pemberton  name  appeared  again  and 
again,  with  various  combinations  of  initials.  Near  the 
head  waters  of  the  bay,  in  the  little  town  of  Pemberton 
Mills,  and  along  the  lower  course  of  Parker's  Eiver,  the 
Pembertons  were  as  thick  as  blueberries  in  their  pastures. 

"  Most  died  out  or  moved  away,"  Uncle  John  remarked 
succinctly,  adding :  "  The  land  hereabouts  used  to  belong 
mostly  to  the  Pembertons  or  Maxwells,  but  in  them  days 
there  was  shippin'  up  Parker's  Eiver,  and  the  Mills 
was  an  outfitten  port  for  fishermen." 

The  Pembertons  that  were  left  were  "  of  no  account," 
t(  run  out,"  as  Aunt  Julia,  who  was  a  foreigner,  placidly 

42 


THE   EEAL    WORLD  43 

admitted.  Most  of  them  that  had  had  farms  on  the 
Neck  had  been  glad  to  sell  their  rocky  acres  to  city 
people  when  the  first  wave  of  summer  immigration  had 
reached  Green  Hill  Bay  twenty  years  before.  Up 
country  there  were  a  few  left,  digging  their  stony 
farms  in  summer  and  fishing  in  winter.  Old  Judge 
Pemberton,  who  had  been  in  Congress  just  after  the  war, 
still  kept  his  grandfather's  house  at  the  Mills,  and  occa 
sionally  in  summer  some  of  his  family  came  from  Phila 
delphia  and  opened  the  old  house.  They  were  very 
distantly  connected  with  Jack's  branch  of  the  family. 
Cousin  Hadley  Pemberton,  over  on  the  east  side  of  the 
Neck,  had  been  shrewd  enough  not  to  sell  all  his  shore 
farm.  In  one  corner  he  had  put  up  a  long,  rambling, 
thin  wooden  hotel,  that  even  the  northeasters  had  not 
subdued  to  harmonious  tints,  and  he  was  said  to  be 
making  money.  He  had  some  of  the  best  "  points  "  of 
the  shore  still  in  his  possession,  which  he  was  holding 
for  fabulous  prices. 

For  the  rest,  the  Pembertons  had  been  rubbed  off  the 
map  in  the  last  thirty  years,  or  had  grown  poorer  and 
poorer,  as  the  tide  of  affairs  set  more  swiftly  away 
from  Green  Bay.  A  group  of  the  country  people  could 
scarcely  gather  in  the  store  at  Pemberton  Mill  without 
containing  one  or  more  of  these  weaker  offshoots  of  the 
family  tree.  Bent,  rugged,  with  knotty  hands  and  un- 
coufh  feet,  slow  and  timid,  —  these  were  the  "  clod 
hoppers"  for  whom  Jack's  mother  had  had  her  taunts. 

Jack  was  known  among  them  from  the  first  as 
"  Arthur's  boy,"  and  after  he  left  the  store  these  distant 


44  THE  REAL  WORLD 

relatives  went  over  his  father's  story  again  and  again 
as  follows:  — 

"  Ain't  exactly  like  Arthur." 

"  Arthur  didn't  do  very  well." 

"  He  was  a  smart  boy,  but  soft  with  the  girls." 

"  I  hear  his  wife  thought  an  awful  sight  of  herself." 

"  Wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  John  and  Julia." 

"  Arthur  didn't  get  much,  marryin'  that  woman." 

"  Music  feller,  weren't  he  ?  " 

And  so  forth,  until  some  unknown  spirit  moved  and 
separated  the  party. 

These  uncouth,  poverty-betraying  figures  explained  a 
good  deal  to  Jack  of  his  mother's  and  sister's  feelings  of 
social  difference.  Even  the  dingy  house  on  Pancoast's 
Lane  was  not  like  the  close  little  frame  cottages  —  an 
attic  above  two  rooms  —  that  Maine  farmers  lived  in. 

John  Pemberton's  house  was  of  this  type ;  the  broad, 
two-story,  square  farmhouse  of  the  Massachusetts  country, 
which  Jack  had  expected  to  find,  did  not  exist  in  Maine, 
except  as  an  occasional  instance  of  wealth  in  the  vil 
lages,  such  as  Judge  Pemberton's  brick  mansion.  But 
Aunt  Julia,  of  thrifty  Yorkshire  descent,  gave  the  little 
farm  at  Parker's  River  an  air  of  comfort.  The  cottage 
glistened  with  white  paint ;  the  sweet-pea  vines  rioted 
in  the  thin  soil;  and  the  barn  had  a  salty  cleanness 
and  freshness  about  it.  There  was  not  much  farming, 
—  a  cow,  a  horse,  some  hens,  a  pig,  a  few  fields  pied 
with  daisies  and  buttercups  to  till,  and  a  salt  meadow. 
Uncle  John  made  his  living  out  of  the  stone  quarry  over 
the  hill  beside  the  bay,  and  out  of  his  old  schooner,  the 


THE   REAL   WORLD  45 

Julia  P.,  that  lay  up  in  the  cove  by  the  bridge.  Past 
years  he  had  fished  off  the  Banks,  but  since  one  spring 
he  had  returned  from  Prince  Edward  Island  with  Aunt 
Julia,  he  had  given  up  venturesome  pursuits,  and  taken 
more  assiduously  to  the  stone  quarry. 

He  was  a  little  man  with  a  red  bunch  of  a  beard  hang 
ing  from  his  chin,  an  untidy  bald  head,  and  eyes  set  in 
furrowed  wrinkles.  He  had  welcomed  Jack,  not  demon 
stratively,  but  kindly  ;  for  deep  in  his  heart  he  had  kept 
warm  his  admiration  and  loyalty  for  the  brilliant  older 
brother,  in  whose  behalf  the  family  had  spent  their  little 
hoard  years  ago.  He  taught  Jack  to  split  the  rough 
blocks  of  Belgian  pavement  that  were  piled  up  beside  the 
bay  for  shipment  in  the  fall.  Days  at  a  time  the  two 
sat  under  a  rude  shelter  of  an  old  sail  stretched  over  a 
wooden  frame,  and  clipped,  clipped  at  the  native  rock, 
silent,  with  a  passive  sympathy  for  one  another.  Or  the 
boy  helped  the  old  fisherman  with  his  lobster-pots,  learn 
ing  to  know  the  sea  in  its  unruffled  moods  at  dawn.  Dur 
ing  the  summer  season  Jack  was  sent  to  the  hotel  and 
the  cottages  on  the  Neck  with  lobsters  or  vegetables  or 
milk.  These  excursions  into  the  strangers'  lively  world 
were  the  least  tolerable  tasks  of  the  year ;  for  in  spite 
of  all  his  good  sense,  he  felt  that  he  was  justifying  Steve 
and  his  mother  in  their  sneers.  The  back  doors  of  the 
cottages,  the  hired  servants  who  chaffed  him,  stirred  a 
pride  that  he  despised  in  himself,  but  could  not  conquer. 

For  the  most  part,  however,  existence  was  calm,  pleas 
antly  empty  of  events,  colored  by  sensations  of  the  clear, 
dry  atmosphere  and  spicy  woods  and  salt  water.  The 


46  THE  EEAL  WORLD 

mechanical  labor  of  the  stone-shed  and  the  lobster  sloop 
dulled  his  mind  and  soothed  the  vigor  of  his  strong 
limbs.  The  silent  meals  with  his  uncle  and  aunt  were 
never  dreary.  It  was  a  peaceful,  monotonous  period  when 
nature  was  unfolding  her  plant  robustly,  unconsciously. 
As  the  summer  waned,  there  was  less  to  do;  and  fine 
afternoons  Jack  could  tramp  over  the  country  after  game, 
or  sail  across  the  bay  to  the  purple  hills  which  had  lifted 
up  his  soul  the  day  he  came.  He  learned  to  know  the 
woods  in  their  most  revealing  time,  the  brooding  days 
when  the  first  leaves  fall  gently,  and  the  seasons  have 
come  to  their  full  time. 

His  uncle  and  aunt  talked  of  his  "  schoolin' "  as  the 
winter  approached.  They  had  their  plan.  Ira  Pember- 
ton's  boy  had  been  at  the  "  Commercial  Institute  "  in 
Rockland,  and  had  graduated  after  two  years  into  a 
clerkship  in  Bath.  Ira's  boy  had  not  impressed  Jack 
pleasantly.  He  was  a  sharp  village  boy,  who  imitated 
in  his  clothes  the  youth  at  the  cottages.  But  as  Jack 
had  nothing  else  to  suggest,  he  entered  the  Eockland 
business  college.  Early  in  the  spring  he  returned  to 
the  Neck  to  help  on  the  farm,  and  the  second  summer 
slipped  away  as  the  first.  When  Christmas  had  passed 
and  Aunt  Julia  was  making  preparations  for  his  going  to 
Rockland,  Jack  spoke  his  mind :  — 

"  I  can't  go  back  there,  Aunt  Julia,"  he  said  squarely. 

"  Why  ?  "  the  comfortable  woman  asked  with  soothing 
slowness.  "  Don't  they  treat  you  right,  Jock  ?  They 
say  it's  a  good  school." 


THE   HEAL  WORLD  47 

"  I  learned  all  they  have  to  teach  about  bookkeeping  in 
a  few  weeks  —  and  there  isn't  anything  else." 

His  aunt  waited  patiently.  She  could  not  understand 
his  repugnance  to  the  cheap  country  boys  with  their  talk 
of  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  their  dream  of  getting  to  Boston 
or  Portland  as  the  farthest  goal  in  life.  They  were  am 
bitious  "  clodhoppers,"  but  worse  than  the  simple  animal. 

"  What  are  yer  goin'  to  do  if  you  don't  try  bizness  ?  " 
she  asked  at  last.  "  You  don't  want  to  hang  around 
here  like  them  fence-rails  up  to  the  store." 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  the  young  fellow  answered.  "I 
guess  I'll  find  out  some  day." 

"Don't  go  dreaming,  Jock,"  his  aunt  commented 
pleasantly. 

"  I've  been  speaking  to  Hadley  about  yer,"  Uncle  John 
put  in  rather  morosely.  "  He  might  take  yer  for  second 
clerk  at  the  hotel,  if  yer'd  finished  your  schoolin'  up  at 
Eockland." 

"I  can  do  his  job,"  Jack  answered  confidently,  and 
then  added  more  slowly,  "and  I  will.  I'll  go  over  to 
see  him  soon.  I  won't  disappoint  you." 

"I'm  afraid  he's  going  to  be  like  his  father,"  Aunt 
Julia  remarked  later  to  her  husband. 

"  He  won't  get  no  help  here  for  any  foolishness,"  John 
Pemberton  answered  grimly.  "  Hadley'll  show  him  what 
to  do  to  get  a  dollar.  He's  smart  enough." 

s*t 

So  when  Hadley  Pemberton's  big  hotel  on  the  Neck 
opened  the  next  June,  Jack  Pemberton  registered  the 
early  guests,  and,  as  the  country  girls  had  not  yet  come 


48  THE   REAL  WORLD 

from  the  normal  schools,  waited  upon  them  at  table. 
There  were  only  a  few  old  people  the  first  week,  who  did 
not  embarrass  the  awkward  boy.  Yet,  as  he  stood  be 
hind  their  chairs  and  took  their  orders,  his  white  apron 
dangling  about  his  legs,  he  was  conscious  of  what  his 
mother  would  feel  should  she  suddenly  appear.  When 
the  rest  of  the  "help"  arrived,  however,  he  would  not 
be  obliged  to  wait  at  table. 

The  second  Monday  of  his  service  more  guests  came, 
and  at  dinner  a  party  of  people  from  one  of  the  cottages 
had  a  small  table  to  themselves.  As  he  stood  by  them 
to  get  orders,  one  of  them,  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  his 
head  bent  over  the  menu,  growled :  — 

"  Waiter !  Take  that  dish  away  !  And  don't  touch  my 
chair.  Here,  this  napkin  is  damp." 

He  uttered  these  complaints  without  looking  from  the 
menu,  and  continued  to  his  table  companions,  "  That's 
the  trouble  with  these  Maine  hotels,  —  beastly  service  — 
country  louts." 

Jack,  whose  hand  had  fallen  carelessly  on  the  back  of 
the  stranger's  chair,  started  as  if  he  had  touched  hot  steel. 
His  face  crimsoned,  and  his  arm  twitched.  Something 
inherent  in  every  self-respecting  American  made  him 
loathe  his  position  even  more  than  he  detested  the  man 
who  had  insulted  him.  He  had  convinced  himself  that 
his  mother's  feelings  about  such  matters  were  silly,  and 
yet  when  it  came  to  the  pinch,  a  dumb  instinct  of  self- 
respect  made  him  revolt.  He  took  the  offending  dish 
with  a  sweep  of  his  hand,  as  if  he  were  about  to  throw  it 
at  the  stranger's  bent  head.  His  eyes  met  the  intelligent 


THE   BEAL  WORLD  49 

glance  of  a  young  woman  who  sat  opposite  the  man. 
He  had  not  seen  her  before,  and  his  hand  was  arrested 
in  its  violent  motion.  She  was  smiling  sympathetically, 
as  if  she  had  caught  the  whole  thing  and  understood  his 
feelings  better  than  he  did.  When  his  eyes  met  hers, 
the  smile  deepened. 

It  was  a  wonderfully  speaking  face!  Every  feature 
seemed  to  do  its  best  to  make  constant  expression.  The 
warm  gray  eyes,  the  curving  mouth,  the  soft  little  hands 
that  strayed  over  the  table-cloth,  smoothing  it  out,  —  all 
spoke  meaningly.  As  Jack  paused,  the  objectionable  dish 
suspended  in  the  air,  the  man  looked  up  impatiently  and 
would  have  burst  out  again. 

"  Won't  you  get  me  a  glass  of  water,  please  ?  "  the  girl 
interposed  quickly,  holding  up  the  thick  tumbler  and 
smiling  at  the  young  fellow.  When  Jack  took  the 
tumbler  from  her  fingers,  she  detained  him  by  an  imper 
ceptible  motion  of  her  hand,  and  asked  in  a  low,  resonant, 
half-laughing  voice :  — 

"  What  is  your  name  ?     You  weren't  here  last  year." 

"Pemberton,"  Jack  muttered  thickly;  "Jack  Pem- 
berton." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Pemberton,"  the  girl  said  quickly, 
throwing  the  merest  stress  on  the  conventional  title  of 
respect.  "  Mr.  Gushing  would  like  a  dry  napkin,  if  you 
can  get  it  for  him  ;  and  bring  us  all  some  clear  soup  and 
fish,  if  it's  nice." 

She  paused  and  looked  up  seriously  into  the  young 
fellow's  face,  as  if  she  were  relying  upon  his  judgment 
and  good  will  in  an  important  matter. 


50  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"  If  it's  fresh,  you  know,  right  out  of  the  Bay.  What 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"My  uncle  caught  it  this  morning,"  Jack  replied 
simply,  blushing  again.  "  And  I  brought  it  over  here." 

"Ah,  that's  the  kind!  A  personally  conducted  fish 
right  from  the  water." 

He  went  out  to  the  serving-room  with  his  tray,  feeling 
that  he  had  been  despatched  on  a  confidential  mission. 
Years  after,  when  his  experience  had  shown  him  the 
tactful  manners  of  many  facile  people,  this  woman's 
simple  method  of  direct  approach  remained  as  potent  as 
on  that  day. 

"You'll  spoil  him,  Elsie,"  her  mother  objected 
placidly,  when  the  boy  had  gone. 

"  Don't  think  it,"  the  girl  laughed.  "  You  can't  handle 
these  people  like  club  waiters,  Mr.  Gushing.  That  boy 
may  be  your  governor,  or  something.  He  has  a  keen 
face,  —  handsome,  don't  you  think  so?  Oh,  you  didn't 
notice  —  you  were  fussing  over  your  napkin  !  I  am  as 
hungry  as  the  Frenchman  at  Pan.  That  beastly  steam 
boat  gives  you  such  an  appetite.  Did  you  see  the 
wretches  strewn  about  the  floor  this  morning  — " 

She  galloped  on,  with  a  never-failing  zest  for  talk, 
taking  the  commonest  incidents  as  hurdles  for  her  dash 
ing  humor. 

Outside  in  the  serving-room  Jack  Pemberton  was  biting 
his  lip  in  mortification  and  self-consciousness,  hating  him 
self,  his  uncle,  Hadley  Pemberton.  When  he  appeared 
finally  with  his  great  tray  piled  high  above  his  flapping 
apron,  he  heard  the  girl's  laughing  tones :  — 


THE   REAL   WORLD  51 

"  Here  comes  my  Ganymede !  How  like  Jove's  eagle 
he  bears  aloft  — " 

They  had  been  making  sport  of  him !  Suddenly  he 
placed  the  dishes  on  the  nearest  table  and  went  out  to 
the  serving-room  to  order  one  of  the  newly  arrived  girls 
to  wait  on  them. 

After  dinner  the  clerk,  who  had  come  from  Boston  on 
the  afternoon  boat,  gave  his  assistant  a  lesson  in  his 
duties  as  head  waiter. 

"  You  don't  want  to  shoo  the  people  to  their  seats  like 
a  country  sexton  at  a  funeral.  Just  walk  up  the  dining 
room  as  if  you  were  leading  the  band,  and  pull  out  the 
chairs  so,  with  a  flourish,  so  the  folks  will  feel  grand  as 
they  sit  down.  And  show  some  sense  between  folks.  I 
saw  you  hustling  that  old  man  Wilkinson  to  his  seat  and 
lettin'  A.  R.  Wyman  find  his  place  himself.  Wilkinson 
and  his  family  take  two  small  rooms  in  the  annex,  and 
Wyman  has  the  best  suite  every  year.  Keep  your  wits 
about  you  and  know  your  people.  Mr.  Gushing' s  been 
kicking  to  me  about  you  already." 

The  clerk,  a  trim,  carefully  dressed  young  man,  who 
was  third  assistant  clerk  in  a  Boston  hotel,  continued  his 
instructions  in  a  not  unkindly  manner,  as  if  he  were  con 
scientiously  rehearsing  the  rudiments  of  a  good  educa 
tion.  As  they  sat  down  to  their  supper  with  the  house 
keepers,  he  concluded  his  remarks :  — 

"You  want  to  jolly  'em  up  —  ask  how  the  fishin'  has 
gone.  Inquire  now  and  then  whether  everything  is  all 
right,  and  tell  'em  you'll  speak  to  Mr.  Pemberton  when 
they  kick.  And  when  things  give  out  in  the  kitchen, 


52  THE   REAL   WORLD 

make  up  a  good  story,  — stuff  'em  with  taffy  all  you  can, 
anyways.  The  feller  that  had  your  place  last  year  was  a 
college  boy,  and  he  carried  away  two  hundred  dollars, 
besides  his  salary  and  keep  for  the  ten  weeks." 

Jack  took  his  supper  at  the  hotel,  for  he  relieved  the 
clerk  at  the  desk  during  the  evening  hours.  The  house 
keepers  gave  him  little  attention,  confining  their  interest 
to  the  head  clerk.  They  talked  about  the  new  arrivals 
and  the  cottage  owners. 

"  Did  you  see  Mr.  Cushing's  yacht,  The  Skylark,  come 
in  to-day?"  the  first  housekeeper  asked.  "It's  an 
chored  up  the  cove,  off  Parker's  Point." 

"  He's  awful  sweet  on  that  Mason  girl  this  time,"  the 
second  housekeeper  added.  "It's  the  third  season  his 
yacht's  been  in  here  —  most  all  summer  last  year." 

"He's  a  high  roller,"  the  clerk  commented.  "His 
wine  bills  are  more'n  all  the  rest  of  the  hotel  put 
together." 

"Well,  the  girls  don't  see  his  money  —  he's  as  mean 
as  dirt." 

"I  guess  Lettie  did,"  the  clerk  added  significantly. 
The  women  giggled,  and  looked  suspiciously  at  young 
Pemberton. 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?  " 

The  clerk  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if  to  say  how 
should  he  know  where  were  the  snows  of  yesteryear. 

"  I  saw  her  once  drivin'  in  Fifth  Avenue." 

"  With  him?    Oh,  he's  a  hard  one." 

"Say,  that  cook  you  got  from  New  York  is  just  fine." 
And  the  talk  went  on  in  mumbled  mouthfuls. 


THE  REAL  WORLD  53 

All  that  evening  Jack  furtively  watched  for  another 
view  of  the  girl  whose  rapid  eyes  had  read  him  so  easily ; 
but  in  vain.  He  handed  out  keys,  discussed  the  arrival 
and  the  departure  of  mails,  sold  postage  stamps,  listened 
to  complaints  about  chambermaids,  and  answered  the 
thousand  little  aimless  questions  of  the  pampered 
"  guests,"  but  never  once  did  the  girl  or  her  mother  or 
Mr.  Gushing  come  through  the  broad  open  doors  from 
the  veranda.  When  the  clerk,  who  had  been  out  driving, 
came  in,  Jack  ventured  to  ask  him  what  rooms  the  Masons 
had. 

"Oh,  they  ain't  in  the  hotel  this  year,"  the  clerk 
answered  nonchalantly.  "  They've  rented  the  big  Peters 
cottage  up  around  Parker's  Point." 

As  Jack  went  home  he  made  a  detour  by  way  of  the 
shore  road.  When  he  reached  the  summit  of  a  little  hill 
that  shelved  off  gradually  into  the  water,  he  noticed  the 
dark  lines  of  a  schooner  yacht,  its  night  lights  burning 
dimly  in  the  damp  air.  The  Peters  cottage  on  the  crest 
of  the  hill  was  well  lighted,  and  as  he  lingered  he  heard 
the  tinkle  of  a  piano,  now  soft,  now  loud,  as  though 
played  by  an  idle  hand  in  the  interludes  of  desultory 
talk. 

He  walked  on  between  the  bayberry-scented  thickets 
in  the  still  night,  realizing  dimly  some  of  the  social  facts 
of  life  which  had  seemed  so  grotesque  in  Pan  coast  Lane. 
This  gay ly  lighted  cottage  was  a  territory  as  much  be 
yond  his  reach  as  the  Shah  of  Persia's  palace.  He  did 
not  know  that  he  wanted  to  reach  it  especially.  But  he 
resented  the  fact  that  he  was  kept  within  the  territory  of 


54  THE   REAL   WORLD 

the  clerk  and  the  housekeepers  and  the  waitresses,  that 
his  was  the  back  door  entrance  upon  life.  In  a  way  the 
cottage  realm  was  no  more  real  than  the  servants'  table 
realm,  but  for  the  first  time  he  was  conscious  of  a  desire 
to  pick,  to  choose  his  world,  not  to  have  it  thrust  upon 
him  in  the  careless  revolutions  of  fate. 

Aunt  Julia  and  Uncle  John  were  sitting  up  for  him, 
-and  when  he  came  in,  they  asked  slowly,  hiding  their 
curiosity  behind  a  lethargic  calm :  — 

"How  are  you  gettin'  on  up  at  the  hotel?  Hadley 
said  anything  ?  " 

"  I  guess  it's  all  right,"  he  answered  wearily.  "  Some 
things  well  and  some  things  badly.  I  can  keep  the  books 
all  right  and  give  satisfaction,  when  I've  learned  how 
to  smooth  people  out.  I'm  going  to  bed,"  he  concluded 
abruptly. 

"  He  don't  seem  just  contented,"  Aunt  Julia  remarked 
after  he  had  gone. 

"  I  guess  he'll  make  out,"  Uncle  John  replied,  as  he 
gathered  up  his  discarded  boots.  "  Ther's  a  place  there 
for  a  clerk,  so  Hadley  told  me,  if  he  takes  hold.  Hadley 
pays  that  feller  from  Boston  a  hundred  dollars  a  month 
and  keep.  He'd  give  Jack  seventy -five  next  year ! " 

Later  he  ventured  to  express  a  doubt :  — 

"  I  hope  he  won't  go  messin'  round  with  them  table- 
girls.  Arthur  was  a  great  hand  for  girls,  more's  the 
pity." 

"  I  never  heard  Jock  mention  a  thing  about  a  girl," 
Aunt  Julia  replied  placidly.  "Seems  as  if  he  never 
looked  at  'em." 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  55 

"  Oh !  lie  can  look  all  right,"  the  old  fisherman  retorted 
slyly. 

Above,  underneath  tha  peak  of  the  roof,  Jack  was 
trying  to  get  to  sleep,  his  brain  heated  with  confused 
ideas.  He  kept  hearing  the  clatter  of  heavy  crockery 
as  it  slid  back  and  forth  in  the  hands  of  the  dish 
washers,  the  fanning  to  and  fro  of  large  doors,  the  shrill 
exclamations  of  the  waitresses,  the  tinkle  and  clash  of 
plates  and  knives  and  forks  in  the  big,  bare  dining  room. 
He  jumped  from  his  hot  bed,  and  put  his  head  out  of  the 
tiny  window.  The  night  air  was  heavy  with  salty  fog, 
and  the  hills  across  the  bay  were  dark  as  if  a  thick  cur 
tain  had  been  let  down  at  the  end  of  an  act.  The  face 
of  the  girl  who  had  looked  into  his  eyes  came  out  of 
the  mist  and  stayed  with  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  WHAT  are  you  doing  there  ?  " 

Jack  straightened  up  and  blushed,  as  he  recognized 
the  Masons'  smart  little  run-about  and  the  young  woman 
who  held  the  reins.  She  had  pulled  up  her  horse  ab 
ruptly,  and  held  him  firmly  as  he  tried  to  get  away  down 
the  bush-fringed  road. 

"  I'm  cutting  balsam  for  the  hotel.  They're  going  to 
have  some  show  or  other  this  evening." 

"  How  nice  it  smells !     Here,  Tom,  take  the  trap  home." 

She  cleared  the  awkward  wheel  skilfully,  and  shook 
herself  as  she  lightly  touched  the  road  before  Jack  could 
offer  her  any  help. 

"Drive  on,  Tom,"  she  said  quickly,  turning  toward 
the  young  clerk.  "  I'll  help  you.  I  drove  over  to  Ledge 
Harbor  —  stupid  place  —  to  luncheon,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do  before  dinner.  This  is  nice ! " 

She  threw  herself  luxuriously  on  the  bundle  of  boughs 
and  tore  off  her  hat,  stretching  out  her  well-shod  feet  with 
the  air  of  a  nicely  licked  kitten.  The  white  waist  and 
stiff  pique  skirt  were  more  becoming  than  the  clothes 
she  had  worn  on  the  few  occasions  when  Jack  had  caught 
glimpses  of  her.  As  she  lay  stretched  out  on  the  green 
boughs,  her  brown  hair  crushed  against  her  white  neck, 
she  was  a  figure  of  perfect  animal  freshness  and  vitality. 
Jack  devoured  the  picture  in  awkward  silence. 

56 


THE   REAL   WORLD  57 

"Don't  stand  there  staring  at  me.  Get  about  your 
work  and  let  me  see  how  you  select  the  balsam." 

He  began  to  cut  branches  feebly,  but  in  a  few  minutes 
sat  down  at  the  edge  of  the  pile. 

"It's  too  fine  to  work.     Besides,  I've  got  most  enough." 

"  Tell  me,"  the  girl  demanded  abruptly.  "  How  do  you 
come  here  ?  You  aren't  old  Hadley  Pemberton's  son  — 
you  aren't  one  bit  like  any  of  them.  I  could  see  that 
when  you  almost  flung  that  dish  at  Mr.  Gushing." 

She  laughed  merrily,  and  suddenly  stopped,  turning 
her  eyes  appealingly  on  the  boy  as  if  he  were  the  one 
essential  person  she  had  ever  met  in  the  world. 

"  My  father  came  from  here,"  Jack  replied  rather  stiffly. 

"What  did  he  do?  What  was  he?"  the  girl  asked 
brusquely,  as  if  between  them  there  would  be  no  reserves. 
"  You  know  I  like  to  find  out  all  about  people  and  what 
they  do,  and  I  knew  you  were  new  at  the  business." 

"  He  was  a  music  teacher,"  Jack  said  shortly. 

"And  you  are  fond  of  music?"  she  pressed  on  eagerly. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  My  mother  wouldn't 
let  me  learn  —  she  was  afraid  I'd  grow  up  to  be  a  music 
teacher." 

"And  she  didn't  think  much  of  the  profession,"  the 
girl  suggested  coaxingly. 

"I  guess  she  thought  —  she  thinks  —  it  beneath  the 
family,  like  being  a  drug  clerk,  or  waiter  in  a  hotel,"  the 
boy  ended  sardonically. 

"  So  you're  going  to  be  something  different,"  she  said 
neutrally,  as  if  she  were  merely  drawing  inferences  for 
her  own  amusement. 


58  THE   REAL   WOULD 

"  Yes,"  Jack  replied  shortly. 

"What  will  it  be?" 

"  I  don't  know  —  not  clerking  in  a  hotel,  I  guess." 

"  I  see,"  the  girl  mused.  "  You  don't  like  waiting  on 
people  —  " 

"  Not  for  their  food  and  drinks  and  rooms." 

"  And  you  don't  like  the  people  you  see." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  saw  many  others.  The  girls 
that  work  there  are  nice  enough." 

Miss  Mason  settled  back  on  her  balsam  boughs  and 
shaded  her  eyes  from  the  warm  sun,  patting  her  plump 
arms  approvingly.  The  boy  continued :  — 

"  I  don't  like  being  different." 

"From  what?"  Miss  Mason  turned  her  gray  eyes 
upon  him  wonderingly. 

"  From  other  people." 

"  But  you're  not.  You're  six  feet  tall,  and  built  like  a 
varsity  crew  man,  with  two  arms,  two  eyes,  two  ears  —  " 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  Jack  interrupted  impa 
tiently.  But  if  she  did  know,  she  did  not  choose  to  let 
him  see  it.  Suddenly  she  pointed  to  the  shore  beneath 
them  and  said,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  interest :  — 

"  What's  that  man  doing  down  there  ?  " 

"He's  dipping  salmon  from  a  weir,"  Jack  answered 
indifferently. 

"  How  does  he  do  it  ?  I  mean,  how  do  they  get  in  ? 
Tell  me  all  about  it." 

Her  breathless  eagerness  made  the  boy  laugh. 

"Why,  they  swim  in  —  I'll  take  you  over  and  show 
you  them  at  low  water.  It's  my  uncle's  weir." 


THE   REAL   WORLD  59 

"  And  is  that  your  uncle  down  there  ?  " 

Jack  squinted  at  the  dumpy  little  figure  wading  about 
in  rubber  boots,  and  said  slowly :  — 

«  Yes." 

"  You  live  with  him  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  If  you  don't  get  to  work,  Mr.  Pemberton,  they  won't 
have  their  decorative  foliage  for  the  ball  this  evening." 

"  I  don't  care  to  work  for  your  amusement." 

The  girl  sat  up,  a  new  wonder  on  her  face. 

"  That  isn't  the  way  to  speak  to  a  woman." 

' "  I  don't  know  how  to  speak  to  a  woman  —  at  least,  if 
she's  any  different  from  a  man." 

"  She's  very  different  from  a  man.  That's  your  first 
lesson  in  life.  Tell  her  every  time  you  can  that  you 
are  treating  her  just  like  a  man  —  and  don't." 

She  jumped  up  from  her  couch  and  took  the  hatchet 
from  Jack.  After  cutting  boughs  until  she  was  breath 
less,  she  said :  — 

"  Now  let's  go'  home." 

"I'll  take  you  through  the  woods  —  I  know  a  way 
over  the  hill  to  your  cottage." 

Miss  Mason  looked  at  him  shrewdly,  and  then  turned 
up  the  hill  in  the  direction  he  pointed.  She  walked 
lightly,  swinging  her  lithe  body  from  stone  to  stone  in 
the  rough  road.  She  was  alive  with  energy,  like  an 
active  child  that  perpetually  must  have  fresh  food  for 
its  hands  and  eyes  and  mind.  Every  now  and  then  she 
stopped  abruptly  and  peered  at  some  object,  —  a  bug,  a 
flower,  a  bit  of  water  in  the  deep  hoof-mark  left  by  a 


60 

cow,  —  and  each  time  she  chatted  about -it  like  a  wren 
building  a  nest. 

The  boy  watched  her  eagerly,  absorbed  in  her  fine, 
rapid  motions,  in  her  breathing,  abundant  life.  He  had 
never  seen  any  one  so  wonderfully  alive.  She  was  froth 
ing  like  a  heady  wine,  and  brilliant  like  a  tree  in  the 
sun.  It  made  no  difference  what  she  said  or  did;  it 
was  all  alike  unexpected  and  apparently  important.  He 
was  immensely  curious  in  a  shy  way  to  know  more  about 
her,  —  what  she  did,  what  she  said  about  things,  what 
people  she  saw. 

"  Hello ! "  Miss  Mason  exclaimed,  as  the  road  came 
out  into  an  open  field.  "  There's  a  new  yacht  in !  I 
bet  it's  Tommy  Enderson's.  We'll  have  some  sport  if 
it  is.  This  place  is  as  dull  as  a  German  spa;  don't 
you  think  so?" 

Jack  wondered  what  a  German  spa  might  be,  but  he 
busied  himself  in  helping  his  companion  over  a  stile 
where  the  barbed  wire  caught  her  skirt.  He  carefully 
unhooked  the  skirt  from  the  fence  while  she  watched  him 
seriously,  her  face  very  close  to  his.  He  turned  his  eyes 
once  from  the  skirt  and  noticed  how  much  like  a  child's 
the  girl's  face  looked  at  Close  range,  —  the  soft  skin,  the 
serious  gray  eyes,  the  trembling  curve  of  the  mouth. 
She  breathed  in  little  gasps  like  an  excited  child. 

"  Don't  make  eyes  at  me,  clumsy ! "  she  commanded. 
"You'll  tear  it,  and  I  haven't  another  decent  frock  to 
cover  me  with." 

And  then,  when  he  had  finally  extricated  her,  she 
gave  him  her  hand  graciously  and  stepped  daintily  over 


THE   REAL   WORLD  61 

the  stile.  There  was  only  one  field  more  between  them 
and  the  cottage ;  Jack  was  suddenly  anxious  to  ask  some 
questions.  Finally  he  stammered :  — 

"  What  makes  people  different ;  men,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  They're  born  different,  I  expect." 

"That  isn't  all.  I  mean  what  makes  Mr.  Eobinson, 
the  clerk,  different  —  well,  from  that  Mr.  Gushing,"  he 
blurted  out,  at  a  loss  for  a  better  example. 

"Why,  why  everything,"  she  answered,  looking  at 
him  with  curious  eyes. 

- "  It  isn't  money,  is  it,  altogether  ?  "     He  pressed  for  a 
definite  answer. 

"They've  lived  differently,"  she  answered  more  seri 
ously,  —  "  known  different  kinds  of  people,  had  different 
opportunities  in  society." 

"  How  have  the  men  you  know  lived  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them  have  had  money.  The  best  of  them 
came  from  good  families,  where  they  always  saw  nice 
people,  and  had  advantages." 

Unconsciously  they  walked  more  closely  together. 
Jack  had  noticed  that  whenever  she  was  especially  inter 
ested  she  drew  very  close  to  his  side,  an  instinctive  ex 
pression  of  comradeship,  her  arm  brushing  his,  her  elbow 
touching  his  in  the  uneven  passages  of  the  road.  Now 
she  loitered  and  looked  confidingly  into  Jack's  face,  her 
gray  eyes  round  with  sympathy,  in  constant  wonder  over 
the  dramatic  surprises  of  life. 

"  Then  if  a  man  isn't  born  so  as  to  have  the  right  sort 
of  people  around  him,  he  will  always  be  '  different '  ?  " 
Jack  asked  simply  and  incisively. 


62  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

"  Why,  there's  education !  "  the  girl  exclaimed.  "  I 
forgot  that.  That  counts  so  much  nowadays ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  education  ?  " 

"  Why,  why  —  I  can't  tell,"  the  girl  stammered,  more 
puzzled.  "  Knowing  things,  silly  !  No,  not  that :  looking 
at  things  in  a  way  that  isn't  common,  being  clever  — 
oh,  heavens,  boy!  ask  me  something  easier." 

"  I  am  not  a  boy,"  Jack  retorted  stiffly,  drawing  away 
from  her  as  if  to  indicate  that,  if  her  interest  was  a  con 
descension  to  his  youth  and  inexperience,  he  would  have 
none  of  it. 

"Yes,  you  are,"  she  laughed  back,  "or  you  wouldn't 
be  asking  me  such  fool  questions ! " 

He  laughed  in  the  contagion  of  her  good  spirits. 

"  The  men  I've  known,"  she  continued,  considering  the 
question  seriously,  "the  most  interesting,  were  college 
men.  I  don't  mean  college  made  them  interesting,  but 
they  came  from  the  great  universities." 

"  Oh !  "  the  boy  rejoined,  illuminated.  "  Harvard  and 
Yale  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I've  seen  regular  muffs  —  duffers,  you  know, 
—  who  were  Harvard  or  Yale  men.  It  isn't  enough  to  go 
there;  you've  got  to  be  the  sort  that  gets  something 
out  of  it,  —  polish,  poise,  ideas — all  that.  Wow!  what  a 
stretch  you  put  my  brain  to  ! " 

"  I  see ! "  the  boy  exclaimed.  He  walked  on  musingly, 
his  mind  probing  the  fresh  considerations  his  companion 
had  suggested ;  he  was  so  absorbed  in  them  that  he  did 
not  notice  when  they  reached  the  little  gravel  path  of 
the  cottage. 


THE   REAL    WORLD  63 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  Miss  Mason  asked  heart 
ily.  "Come  in,  and  we'll  have  something  good  to 
drink." 

Jack  hesitated  a  moment,  instinctively  drawing  back 
from  any  contact  with  this  other,  more  privileged  exist 
ence,  and  then  glancing  into  the  spontaneous,  winning 
face  of  the  girl,  he  yielded  to  her  and  threw  down  the  fir 
branches. 

In  the  large  living-room  of  the  cottage  a  little  group  of 
chattering  men  and  women  were  seated  about  a  wicker 
tea-table  in  various  lounging  attitudes.  As  Miss  Mason 
opened  the  door,  letting  in  the  strong  sea-breeze,  with  a 
touch  of -the  ardent  summer  sun,  the  talkers  paused  and 
looked  at  her,  each  one  expecting  to  be  relieved  of  his 
individual  ennui. 

"  Anything  good  to  drink  ?  "  she  demanded  generally. 
"  I  know  Bushy  has  had  something  better  than  tea.  Oh, 
mother,  let  me  present  to  you  —  Mr.  Pemberton." 

She  brought  the  name  out  slowly  and  looked  about  at 
the  various  faces,  with  a  little  smile  of  amusement.  A 
middle-aged,  rather  fleshy  woman  extended  a  hand  to  the 
stranger.  "Glad  to  see  you  —  where  have  you  been, 
Elsie  ?  " 

"And  Miss  Chesney,"  the  girl  continued,  her  quiet 
amusement  deepening. 

A  tall,  handsome  young  woman  with  strong  features 
nodded  imperceptibly  and  looked  at  the  awkward  boy. 

"  And  Mr.  Gushing,"  Miss  Mason  ended. 

The  man,  whom  Jack  had  judged  to  be  over  fifty,  but 
was  really  hardly  forty,  mumbled  some  acknowledg- 


64  THE   REAL   WORLD 

ment,  and  turned  abruptly  to  Miss  Chesney :  "  The  beast 
bolted,  and  I  told  Harry  —  "  he  continued. 

Miss  Mason  was  shaking  hands  with  a  pale  girl  who 
sat  at  one  side.  She  looked  at  Jack  as  if  expecting  an 
introduction,  but  Miss  Mason  apparently  forgot  her 
charge.  Miss  Mason  seemed  to  treat  this  visitor  less 
easily  than  the  others,  and  the  two  girls  were  soon  in 
the  thick  of  talk.  Jack,  left  to  himself,  was  infinitely 
angry  that  he  had  been  beguiled  into  his  position.  He 
glanced  about  the  rooms ;  there  was  a  profusion  of  photo 
graphs,  books,  music-scores,  some  odd-looking  candle 
sticks,  and  strange,  dull  pieces  of  old  silver.  .To  him  the 
cottage  seemed  luxurious  and  complete,  as  if  these  peo 
ple  had  been  living  in  it  for  years,  instead  of  weeks. 
The  ornaments,  in  themselves  of  slight  value,  gave  an 
impression  of  personal  refinement,  of  individuality.  In 
one  corner  over  a  writing  table  was  draped  a  piece  of 
stained  brocade,  giving  what  Miss  Mason's  friends  called 
her  "  touch,"  her  sense  of  "  effect." 

He  was  wondering  how  he  might  escape  from  these 
people  who  talked  on  without  heeding  him.  Suddenly 
Miss  Mason  came  toward  him  with  a  cup  of  tea;  he 
blushed  afresh  and  refused  it,  consciously. 

"  Bushy,"  the  girl  remarked,  still  standing  by  the  boy, 
"  do  you  know,  I  believe  Tommy  Enderson's  yacht  is  in. 
Mother,  Tommy'll  be  here  for  dinner.  Get  out  all  your 
wine  and  your  beer,  for  Tommy  is  uncommon  dry  when 
he  reaches  Maine." 

The  pale  girl's  face  looked  polite  contempt.  Miss 
Chesney  remarked :  — 


THE  HEAL  WOULD  65 

"  Tina  said  he  would  be  in  some  day  this  week." 

"  Tina  isn't  going  to  have  him,"  Miss  Mason  retorted. 
"  We'll  carry  him  off  under  Tina's  sharp  little  nose." 

"  Elsie ! "  Mrs.  Mason  protested  feebly. 

A  new-comer — a  fresh-colored,  tall  young  man — slipped 
into  the  group  with  a  familiar  nod  and  word  to  all.  Jack 
managed  to  rise  and  indicate  the  fact  that  he  wanted  to 
depart.  He  did  not  like  Miss  Mason  here,  as  he  had 
liked  her  on  the  boughs,  in  the  wood  road.  There  was 
something  cheaply  flippant  and  common  in  her  famili 
arity  with  the  world,  which  he  did  not  understand. 

"  You'll  come  again ! "  the  girl  said  cordially,  looking 
into  his  face  with  her  pleading,  personal  air.  "And 
we'll  go  down  to  the  shore,  won't  we  ?  Bushy,  Mr.  Pem- 
berton  is  going  to  take  me  whale-fishing  down  by  the 
cove  in  those  queer  places." 

Mr.  Gushing  made  no  sign  of  having  heard  anything, 
and  in  a  moment  Miss  Mason  was  talking  to  the  new 
young  man.  Jack  knew  that  he  should  have  gone  before. 
By  the  time  his  back  was  turned,  the  group  was  at  its 
chaff  once  more,  without  a  thought  of  him.  The  boy's 
color  rose,  and  he  ground  his  teeth,  foolishly.  He  would 
take  care  not  to  let  himself  be  caught  in  that  way 
again. 

Once  outside  the  cottage,  however,  on  the  deserted 
road,  in  the  cool  sharp  shadows  of  the  Maine  twilight,  he 
forgot  his  personal  annoyance,  and  as  he  hurried  to  the 
hotel  with  the  balsam,  his  heart  was  suffused  with  a 
gentle  happiness,  a  personal  warmth,  that  it  had  rarely 


66  THE   REAL   WORLD 

known.  The  girl  had  a  warm,  clinging  charm  that  sur 
mounted  her  brusqueness,  her  slang,  her  careless  man 
ners,  that  set  her  quite  apart.  He  could  see  her  smile, 
hear  her  breathless  words,  sounding  in  his  ears  like  a 
bustling  brook  among  the  hills. 

In  a  patch  of  raspberry  bushes  beside  the  road  he 
noticed  the  calico  sun-bonnet  of  a  little  girl.  The  child 
had  fallen  asleep  under  the  bunches  of  syrupy,  ripe,  red 
berries,  and  as  she  lay,  her  little  arm  doubled  under  her 
stained  face,  he  caught  a  close  resemblance  to  the  young 
woman  he  had  left,  — the  same  full,  curving,  little  lips,  the 
soft,  moist  cheek  like  the  skin  of  dew-sprinkled  fruit. 
The  girl  was  but  a  bounteous  child.  He  gathered  up  the 
stray  morsel  under  the  berry  bushes  and  carried  her 
tenderly,  still  asleep,  to  the  cottage  across  the  road. 
Thus  shielding  her  from  the  damp  dews,  he  seemed  in  a 
way  cherishing  the  woman  who  had  spoken  to  him  out 
of  the  silent  reaches  of  his  unpeopled  world.  And  the 
man's  instinct  for  expression  of  love,  for  protection  and 
service  of  something  wayward,  awoke  with  a  fierce  ten 
derness,  a  hunger  that  threatened  his  content. 

A  good  many  days  followed  in  which  he  caught  no 
glimpse  of  Elsie  Mason.  Miss  Chesney  he  saw  at  the 
hotel  once  or  twice,  and  received  a  cool,  slight  nod. 
When  he  met  Mr.  Gushing  on  the  wharf,  that  person 
passed  him  over  as  one  of  the  idle  loafers  that  fre 
quented  the  boat-landing.  Every  night  on  his  return 
to  his  uncle's  cottage  he  took  the  winding  "  cove  road," 
with  a  boy's  shy  hope  of  some  accident  in  the  routine 
of  life.  But  the  Mason  cottage  remained  like  the  other 


THE   KEAL  WORLD  67 

cottages  sprinkled  over  the  Neck  —  a  little  world  by 
themselves,  whose  occupants  came  and  went,  passing  him 
heedlessly  on  the  hard  highroads  of  life. 

But  his  mind  was  at  work,  pondering  minutely  certain 
ideas  set  in  motion  by  this  ignorant,  careless  girl.  She 
had  touched  his  imagination  with  vague  fancies  of  a 
larger  existence  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of.  At  the 
hotel  there  was  living  a  tutor,  who  coached  certain  hours 
each  day  the  idle  sons  of  the  cottagers,  who  had  failed 
in  their  examinations  at  Harvard  and  Yale.  From  him 
Jack  learned  what  he  must  know  to  enter  a  large  uni 
versity.  Then  he  wrote  to  his  sister,  asking  her  to  send 
him  the  books  Steve  had  used  at  the  Academy.  And  the 
good-natured  tutor,  who  had  felt  the  sting  of  ambition 
in  narrow  circumstances,  lent  him  other  books  and  helped 
him  with  the  cleverness  of  the  expert  in  furnishing 
the  least  possible  information  required  for  a  pass-mark. 
Thus,  blindly,  the  boy  stretched  out  his  hands  to  an 
other  future. 

Later  when  his  uncle  asked  him  if  the  Boston  clerk 
couldn't  get  him  a  place  in  a  city  hotel  for  the  winter, 
he  answered  steadily :  — 

"I  don't  want  one.  I  am  going  to  college  as  soon  as 
I  can  get  in." 

In  the  agony  of  his  tongue-tied  habit  of  mind,  the  old 
fisherman  could  only  scratch  his  head. 

"You  doan't  want  to  fuss  with  books,"  his  aunt 
answered,  flattening  her  vowels  in  the  excitement  of  her 
fear.  "  That's  loike  your  fayther.  You're  going  the 
same  way,  and  he  didn't  get  much  satisfaction — " 


68  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"  Where  ?  "  Uncle  John  jerked  out  at  last. 

"  Harvard.     That's  the  biggest  and  best." 

His  tone  was  so  calm  and  confident  that  it  disarmed 
much  of  the  protest.  He  spoke  as  if  it  were  a  small 
matter  of  choice,  upon  which  he  had  exercised  his  judg 
ment  and  could  not  be  stirred. 

"  Land  save  us !  "  his  uncle  spluttered.  "  You  speak 
as  if  you  were  a  millionnaire's  son;  one  of  them  fellers 
that  go  about  summers  in  cotton  drawers.  Where  do  you 
think  the  money'll  come  from  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  I  shall  have  a  little  in  the  fall,  and 
the  fellow  that's  tutoring  at  the  hotel  says  you  can  get 
on  somehow,  if  you  are  smart  enough." 

"It's  your  father  over  again,"  Uncle  John  replied, 
more  calmly,  sadly.  "He  didn't  get  on  fur.  I  thought 
you'd  seen  the  dog-arned  foolishness  of  it,  and  was  goin' 
to  make  money." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall,"  the  boy  protested.  "  There  were 
other  Pembertons  beside  my  father  who  went  to  college, 
and  they  did  something  —  there's  Judge  Cyrus,  and 
Elwell  Pemberton  —  " 

The  fisherman  waved  his  hand  resignedly.  He  accepted 
the  decision  without  comment,  in  the  dumb,  fateful  man 
ner  of  the  silent  puritan.  He  never  referred  to  the 
question  again.  But  to  his  wife,  later,  he  said,  "  Same 
as  Arthur,  same  as  Arthur ! " 

"  Except  for  the  women.  He  doesn't  trouble  with  the 
girls  much." 

"  He  will  fast  enough,  when  that  comes  on  him,"  the 
old  man  replied  dejectedly. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  69 

"He's  full  of  dreams,  Jock  is,  —  goes  'round  as  if 
folks  and  things  were  no  more  than  a  basket  of  clothes 
pins." 

"I  guess  he'll  learn  'taint  so  'fore  he  gets  through 
with  the  world." 

"  He's  chock  full  o'  dreams,"  the  old  woman  repeated, 
self-satisfied  with  her  analysis,  and  without  complaint. 
The  world  held  such  people  once  in  so  often,  and  it  was 
useless  to  worry  yourself  over  them.  They  would  right 
themselves  sooner  or  later,  after  one  or  two  knocks 
against  the  surfaces  of  circumstance,  or  sink  submerged 
in  their  own  folly. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  "help"  in  the  hotel  were  to  have  their  annual 
picnic  the  last  week  of  August.  They  were  to  take 
buckboards  to  a  little  shanty  on  a  lake  among  the  hills, 
and  have  supper  and  a  dance,  returning  by  moonlight, 
like  the  "city-folks."  The  affair  was  managed  by  the 
chief  clerk,  who  left  most  of  the  details  to  Jack.  At 
first  Jack  was  determined  not  to  go,  for  the  manners 
of  some  of  the  "table-girls"  made  him  uncomfortably 
shame-faced,  and  he  remembered  with  disgust  how  the 
buckboards  passed  his  uncle's  house  the  year  before, 
the  men  shouting  inanely,  the  women  laughing  immod 
erately.  He  thought  they  were  all  drunk.  But  as  the 
day  for  the  picnic  drew  nearer,  he  feared  that  his  refusal 
to  join  them  would  be  taken  very  ill  by  his  fellow-laborers, 
and  he  was  ashamed  of  his  desire  to  keep  apart  from 
them. 

So,  after  the  dinner  at  the  hotel,  which  had  been  put 
forward  to  give  the  servants  a  long  evening,  he  got  into 
the  last  buckboard  with  two  girls,  rather  quieter  than  the 
others,  with  whom  he  felt  more  or  less  at  home.  The 
drive  out  to  Clear  Lake  in  the  cool  twilight  was  demure 
enough.  The  two  girls  on  his  seat  left  him  alone,  —  he 
fancied  they  were  rather  provoked  at  having  him  for 
an  escort,  —  and  talked  to  themselves  about  the  people 
at  the  hotel  and  the  cottagers. 

70 


THE   REAL   WORLD  71 

"  The  Mathers  have  four  girls  and  two  men,"  Hope 
Haskins  observed. 

"  The  Masons  have  only  three,"  Kuth  Maxwell  replied 
tolerantly ;  "  but  they're  real  nice  people,  not  a  bit  fussy. 
And  do  you  see  how  the  Mason  girl  dresses  —  she  had 
on  a  long,  cream-colored  coat  the  other  day  when  it 
was  cold  —  broadcloth.  My!  it  makes  your  eyes  p,op 
out.  And  she  has  a  different  waist  for  every  hour  in 
the  day  —  " 

"  She  ain't  anythin'  to  compare  with  that  Chesney 
girl,"  Hope  broke  in,  disdainfully.  "The  Masons  ain't 
much  —  tryin'  to  know  folks,  I  guess;  but  General 
Mather  is  the  real  thing,  a  first-class  swell,  and  barrels 
and  barrels  of  money.  And  Mis'  Mather  has  her  own 
maid,  a  foreign  woman,  I  should  think,  by  the  looks  of 
her.  She  wears  clothes  fit  for  a  queen  herself." 
•  "  Well,"  Ruth  drawled,  picking  at  the  sleeves  of  her 
stiff  shirtwaist,  "  I  want  nothin'  better  than  the  Masons. 
I  waited  on  table  for  'em  when  they  first  come,  before 
they  begun  housekeeping  and  I  know  real  nice  people 
when  I  see  'em.  Mis'  Mason  gave  me  this  skirt." 

Jack  found  himself  listening  with  interest  to  the 
gossip  about  the  two  families.  Suddenly  Hope  ap 
pealed  to  him  with  a  little  conscious  laugh :  — 

"  Say,  Mr.  Pemberton,  ain't  that  young  college  feller 
down  here  a-studyin'  with  the  General's  son?" 

"  He's  tutoring  him  for  Harvard,"  Jack  replied. 

"  I  see  you're  quite  thick  with  him.  Thinking  of  being 
a  college  boy  yourself  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  he  admitted  uncomfortably. 


72  THE  REAL   WORLD 

"  Won't  you  be  fine,  with  one  of  them  great  shirts  on, 
covered  with  figures  like  a  cashmere  shawl ! " 

The  girls  giggled  and  looked  at  the  boy  quizzically. 

"  You'll  be  too  grand  to  wait  on  table  and  run  'round 
with  ice-pitchers,  I  pre-sume,"  Hope  drawled  teasingly. 

"  Most  too  fine  now,"  her  companion  giggled.  "  He'll 
be  puttin'  on  a  swaller-tail  coat  and  takin'  his  dinner 
up  to  the  cottages." 

"Look  how  Mr.  Cramp  is  carryin'  on  with  Sadie.  He 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself,  teasin'  her  like  that. 
Say,  Mr.  Cramp,  who  was  the  girl  you  went  out  sailin' 
with  last  Sunday  ?  " 

The  young  man  on  the  front  seat,  who  combined  the 
duties  of  barber  with  those  of  barkeeper,  turned  and 
winked. 

"  I  know  another  girl  who'd  'a'  liked  to  been  there." 

"  Oh,  you  do ! "  his  companion,  Sadie  Pemberton,  a 
fat,  red-cheeked  girl,  scoffed.  "You  can  keep  your  old 
boat  to  yourself,  Mr.  Cramp.  I've  my  own  feller.  I 
don't  have  to  pick  up  with  any  city  dude  that  clips 
hair." 

"You  don't,  don't  you?"  the  young  barber  jeered. 
"  Well,  come  in  some  day  and  let  me  clip  that  bang  for 
you.  Ladies  in  fashion  aren't  wearing  bangs  this  year. 
They  does  their  hair  up  in  a  mop,  so." 

He  illustrated  the  fashion  by  grasping  the  thick  braids 
of  his  companion.  She  squealed,  and  the  barber  put  his 
arms  around  her  to  hold  her.  She  shrieked  louder  and 
fought  energetically,  until  the  rest  of  the  buckboard  was 
aroused  and  took  part  in  the  game.  Hope  and  Ruth 


THE   REAL  WORLD  73 

tried  to  pinch  the  barber's  arm  in  intervals  of  giggles. 
Finally  Cramp  released  his  grip. 

"  You're  sorry  now ! "  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  Jack 
and  winking  broadly,  as  if  to  say,  "That's  the  way  to 
handle  the  girls." 

Ruth  Maxwell  turned  to  Jack. 

"They  do  carry  on  dreadful.  That  Cramp  feller  is 
awful  rude  with  the  girls." 

Ruth  was  known  among  the  girls  of  the  hotel  as 
"pious."  She  attended  prayer-meeting  in  the  Mills 
meeting-house  every  Wednesday  evening.  She  was 
slight  and  thin,  with  a  flickering  complexion  of  a  red 
sweet-pea  blossom.  Jack  had  noticed  that  she  was  too 
frail  to  carry  her  heavy  trays,  and  had  often  relieved  her 
when  he  could.  She  nestled  closer  to  him  away  from 
the  boisterous  party,  who  were  teasing  Sadie  Pemberton. 
For  the  rest  of  the  drive  Jack  talked  with  Ruth,  and  she 
confided  in  him  her  ambition  "  to  go  up  state  to  the  Nor 
mal  School "  and  teach.  She  did  not  like  "  hotel  work," 
but  "  pop  "  had  six  children,  all  girls  but  one.  And  Jack 
gathered  that  "  pop  "  was  rather  shiftless. 

When  the  buckboard  drew  up  by  the  shanty  known 
as  Clear  Lake  Hotel,  the  two  were  good  friends.  Jack 
helped  the  other  men  to  unload  the  case  of  beer  and  the 
packages  of  cake  and  pie,  and  to  build  the  fire.  There 
was  no  necessity  for  the  fire,  but  Cramp  insisted  on  one 
being  built.  What  was  a  picnic  without  a  fire?  The 
blaze  was  started  amid  much  chaffing  and  joking. 
Cramp  received  a  box  on  the  ear  from  a  frisky  kitchen 
girl  and  returned  it  with  good  will  The  girl  cried, 


74  THE   REAL   WORLD 

and  the  Boston  clerk  rebuked  Cramp  for  being  so  "  tuff 
and  loud."  There  followed  an  explosive  altercation 
between  the  barber  and  the  clerk,  who  made  a  favor 
able  impression  by  saying  that,  "  All  these  young  ladies 
don't  want  such  impoliteness."  Finally  the  dispute 
was  drawn  by  a  joke,  and  the  party  scattered  into  the 
woods  and  along  the  fine  sandy  beach  of  the  lake, 
two  by  two.  The  clerk  led  off  the  assistant  house 
keeper  to  "Moonlight  Dell."  Cramp  poled  Sadie  Pem- 
berton  in  a  leaky,  flat-bottomed  scow  after  lily-buds. 
Jack  found  himself  with  the  gentle  little  table-girl; 
the  two  strolled  beside  the  still  lake  that  lay  as  light 
as  day  under  the  full  moon.  The  pastry-cook,  a  tall 
auburn-headed  man,  disappeared  with  his  companion  into 
the  thicket  ahead  of  them.  In  the  uncertain  broken 
moonlight  Jack  caught  sight  of  the  man's  arm  about 
the  girl's  waist,  and  a  moment  later  his  keen  ears  de 
tected  the  sounds  of  a  faint,  affected  protest  from  the 
girl.  He  imagined  that  the  arm  had  been  drawn  more 
tightly  about  the  woman's  waist.  Ruth  had  seen  the 
man  and  the  girl,  too,  and  had  heard  the  noise  in 
the  thicket.  She  laughed  a  little  self-consciously,  re 
marking  :  — 

"  Some  men  are  so  awful  rude  and  heady ! " 
Jack,  realizing  that  the  manner  rather  than  the  act 
offended  his  companion,  made  no  reply.  He  felt  ill  at 
ease,  here  in  the  soft  moonlight  and  shadow,  with  so 
much  merry,  frank  courting  going  on  around  him,  and 
this  girl  brushing  close  by  his  side. 

"  That's  what  they  most  always  do  at  these  suppers," 


THE   REAL   WOULD  75 

Ruth  continued  as  Jack  remained  silent.  "  They  get  off 
in  the  woods  by  themselves  —  " 

Her  sentence  was  interrupted  by  a  shriek  followed 
by  a  loud  giggle  from  a  point  across  the  lake.  Jack 
stepped  on  impatiently,  irritated  with  himself  for  "  feel 
ing  goody,"  as  his  companion  would  have  said. 

"Some  folks  don't  mind  letting  the  whole  world 
know  what  they're  up  to,"  Ruth  observed  rather  cen 
soriously. 

"Let's  walk  out  to  the  point  over  there,"  Jack  sug 
gested  hastily,  and  hurried  on  his  companion. 

When  they  reached  the  spit  of  sand  that  he  had  indi 
cated,  Ruth  sat  down,  saying  she  was  "  mortal  tired  and 
couldn't  drag  a  step."  Jack  threw  himself  on  the  sand 
by  her  side  and  said  nothing. 

"  Don't  you  like  girls  ?  "  Ruth  asked  at  last. 

"  I  don't  know  many,"  Jack  admitted. 

"  Hain't  you  any  sisters  or  cousins  ?  " 

"  One  sister.  Plenty  of  cousins  hereabouts.  I  sup 
pose  that  Sadie  Pemberton  is  one  of  my  cousins  —  same 
name  and  same  district." 

Ruth  settled  herself  more  comfortably  very  near  her 
companion. 

"  I  kind  'er  thought  you  didn't  fancy  girls." 

>'  Why  ?  " 

"Oh!  all  the  girls  at  the  hotel  say  so.  Some  think 
you'rerstuck  up,  but  I  said  it  weren't  so." 

"  I  haven't  anything  to  be  stuck  up  about,"  Jack  ob 
served. 

"  You're  awful  good  to  me ! " 


76  THE   KEAL   WORLD 

Jack  flung  a  stone  into  the  water.  It  dimpled  the  sil 
ver  surface  for  a  moment.  Then  Ruth  began  a  new  subj  ect. 

"I  had  a  feller  keepin'  company  with  me  last  winter. 
He  worked  in  a  store  up  at  Stacey's  Falls,  and  used  to 
come  over  Sundays,  but  pop  didn't  like  him.  Pop  was 
real  mean." 

"  Did  you  like  him  ?  "  Jack  asked,  to  make  conversa  - 
tion. 

"  Pretty  well.  He  weren't  rough  like  that  Cramp  fel 
ler.  He  gave  me  that  ring." 

She  held  out  her  hand :  the  little  palm  was  white  and 
bloodless ;  a  small  gold  ring  circled  one  of  the  red  fingers. 
The  little  hand  —  wasted  and  red  from  the  constant 
washing  of  heavy  dishes  —  appealed  to  Jack.  It  might 
have  been  such  a  pretty  hand,  soft  and  delicately  tapered 
like  Miss  Mason's. 

"  There's  some  kind  of  a  foreign  stone  in  it  —  can  you 
see  ?  " 

Jack  took  the  proffered  hand  in  his,  and  examined  the 
ring  more  closely.  Ruth  bent  her  head  nearer,  and  they 
looked  at  the  ring  without  speaking.  At  first  Jack 
found  it  awkward  to  drop  the  hand,  and  then  as  he  kept 
it,  he  had  a  strange,  new  pleasure.  The  gentle  little 
girl  by  his  side,  with  her  sweet-pea  color,  and  delicate, 
wistful  features,  pleased  him.  She  did  not  seem  to  mind 
his  holding  her  hand.  A  restful,  dreamy  look  stole  over 
her  tired  face,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  very  grateful  to 
him  for  being  with  her,  for  not  being  "  rough  "  like  the 
others.  He  put  his  arm  behind  her  to  shelter  her,  and 
insensibly  she  nestled  closer  and  closer. 


THE  REAL   WORLD  77 

An  unknown  desire  stirred  his  heart  to  thumping.  A 
temptation  swept  over  him  to  taste  a  sweet  that  seemed 
almost  at  his  lips.  Then,  unaccountably,  he  hated  him 
self  for  the  thought,  as  for  a  piece  of  infidelity  to  some 
thing  he  knew  not  what.  He  dropped  the  girl's  hand 
and  drew  himself  away  a  very  little.  The  impulse  of 
the  moment  —  the  desire  to  taste  and  feel  even  for  an 
instant  a  mortal,  human  thing — passed.  Ruth  looked 
at  him  with  startled,  reproachful  eyes. 

"Jack,"  she  murmured,  and  obedient  to  her  need  of 
him,  he  took  her  hand  again.  With  a  sigh  she  let  her 
head  fall  on  his  arm,  close  to  his  burning  face. 

"  Save  me !  save  me !     I'm  drowning ! " 

The  cries  came  from  the  lake  behind  the  point.  Jack 
started  up  and  ran  to  the  shore.  In  the  deceitful  light 
he  could  see  a  boat  floating,  —  a  dark  spot  on  the  silver 
water,  —  and  a  man  struggling  to  crawl  upon  its  up 
turned  bottom.  The  shrieks  were  from  another  figure 
floundering  in  the  water  a  dozen  feet  from  the  boat. 
The  man,  who  was  Cramp,  got  on  top  of  the  boat  and 
joined  his  cries  to  the  woman's. 

"  She's  drowning !     Save  her ! " 

"  Why  don't  you  help  her,  you  fool ! "  Jack  cried  out, 
as  he  threw  off  his  coat  and  waded  into  the  water.  By 
the  time  Jack  reached  them,  the  fat  girl  was  breathless 
with  terror  and  speechless  from  the  water  that  she  had 
gulped  down.  He  got  her  ashore  without  much  trouble ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  she  had  revived  enough  to  limp  to 
the  fire,  holding  his  arm.  The  company,  startled  by 
Sadie's  cries,  came  in  from  the  nooks  where  they  had 


78  THE   REAL   WORLD 

been  carrying  on  their  flirtations.  The  barber  appeared 
last,  trying  to  wring  the  water  from  his  coat  as  he 
walked. 

"  Oh,  you  good-f or-nothin'  dog ! "  Sadie  gasped  at  him, 
shaking  her  fist. 

"  Come,  now,  Sade,  I  was  afeard  of  your  tongue,"  the 
barber  protested,  trying  to  regain  his  swagger. 

"  Before  I  trust  myself  to  a  drinkin'  man  again  —  " 

"  He's  cold  water,  now,"  the  pastry-cook  observed. 

"  I  guess  I'll  mix  a  drink,"  the  barber  retorted,  fetch 
ing  a  flask  from  the  baskets. 

"None  of  that!"  the  clerk  said  warningly.  And 
Cramp  was  too  depressed  by  his  ruined  clothes  to  insist 
upon  having  his  drink. 

The  incident  furnished  talk  and  wit  for  the  supper, 
which  was  eaten  indoors  about  a  roaring  fire  for  the 
sake  of  the  three  wet  people.  When  the  "lager"  was 
opened,  the  hilarity  of  the  party  rose  by  leaps  and 
bounds.  Sadie  persisted  in  heaping  attentions  upon  Jack, 
who,  she  averred,  had  saved  her  from  drowning  in  that 
filthy  pond.  Jack  protested  that  the  water  was  not  four 
feet  deep  where  she  was  upset.  But  nothing  could  pro 
tect  him  from  the  girl's  devotion.  As  Cramp's  jealousy 
rose,  her  efforts  increased.  Then  some  one  struck  up  a 
waltz  on  the  wheezy  piano  in  the  corner,  and  Jack,  pro 
testing  that  he  could  not  dance,  found  himself  whirling 
around  the  room  in  the  firm  embrace  of  the  plump  Sadie. 
The  others  joined  in  the  romp,  bumping  and  jostling 
each  other  with  the  greatest  good  humor.  Cramp  had 
seized  Euth,  and  as  they  passed  in  their  frantic  whirl, 


THE   REAL   WORLD  79 

Jack  could  feel  the  girl's  reproachful  glances.  But  his 
robust  partner  held  him  in  an  iron  embrace. 

Suddenly  the  door  swung  open,  letting  in  the  calm 
moonlight  and  the  damp,  cool  air.  Jack  glanced  over 
the  shoulder  of  his  panting  partner  and  caught  sight 
of  Miss  Mason's  cool  gray  eyes  measuring  the  scene. 
A  little  smile  flickered  over  her  mouth,  —  a  disdainful, 
impertinent  smile.  With  her  were  several  young  women, 
and  among  them  the  pale  young  girl  Jack  had  seen  at 
Miss  Mason's  cottage.  A  tall  gentleman,  whom  he  recog 
nized  as  General  Mather,  and  his  son  were  talking  with 
the  clerk,  and  presently  they  went  outside,  shutting  the 
door. 

"  Don't  let  us  disturb  you,"  Miss  Mason  said  coolly  to 
the  embarrassed  group.  "We've  met  with  an  accident; 
nothing  serious." 

"  We  should  like  to  enjoy  your  fire,  if  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  let  us,"  her  companion  added,  in  a  more  friendly 
manner.  "  But  do  keep  on  with  your  dance,  or  we'll  go 
outside  and  wait." 

Jack's  face  burned  with  resentment  at  Miss  Mason's 
manner.  He  turned  his  discomfited  eyes  to  the  young 
girl  who  had  just  spoken.  She,  too,  seemed  to  be  look 
ing  at  him  in  response  to  a  low  word  from  Miss  Mason. 
Jack  divined  that  she  was  the  General's  daughter,  the 
little  girl  of  the  summer  house  beyond  Cliff's  garden. 
Perhaps  she  remembered  him,  too !  He  turned  his  back 
brusquely  on  the  new-comers,  defiant,  yet  provoked  with 
himself ;  he  was  where  he  belonged  in  the  social  scheme 
of  things. 


80  THE  REAL  WORLD 

"  Pray,  go  on,"  Miss  Mason  remarked,  picking  her  way 
daintily  among  the  beer  bottles  and  luncheon  baskets 
towards  the  fire.  As  she  passed  Jack  she  smiled  patron 
izingly  at  him,  adding  fury  to  his  embarrassment. 

"Come,"  he  said  roughly  to  his  stout  partner;  "let's 
dance ! " 

But  the  girls  were  giggling  and  talking  among  them 
selves.  Finally  Cramp  stepped  forward  as  spokes 
man:  — 

"The  ladies  were  saying,  miss,  that  if  you'd  take  a 
turn,  we'd  be  very  pleased  —  " 

"  I  don't  care  to  dance,"  Miss  Mason  replied  shortly, 
after  eying  the  man  with  cool  scrutiny.  She  turned  to 
the  fire  and  tapped  the  bricks  with  the  toe  of  her  boot, 
as  if  the  place  did  not  exist  for  her.  Her  manners  were 
so  unlike  what  Jack  expected  from  her,  that  he  thought 
they  must  be  due  to  the  presence  of  the  Mathers.  Yet 
Miss  Mather,  turning  to  Ruth,  said :  — 

"  You  haven't  a  partner.  Will  you  dance  ?  I  can  waltz 
man-fashion.  Come !  Miss  Mason,  please  play  for  us." 

Miss  Mason  thumped  out  "  The  Belle  of  New  York " 
on  the  rusty  piano  in  true  music-hall  style.  But  the 
party  danced  slowly  and  uncomfortably.  The  other 
strangers  stood  about  the  fire  in  conscious  attitudes, 
talking  among  themselves.  They  were  lithe,  strong, 
young  creatures,  conspicuously  well  dressed,  with  mo 
bile,  pretty  features.  Not  one  was  beautiful,  but  all 
were  attractive.  They  gave  the  rough  room  another 
atmosphere,  and  the  men  and  girls  stared  at  them 
admiringly. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  81 

After  a  time  the  barber  went  up  to  Miss  Mather  and 
asked  her  to  dance.  She  hesitated,  while  Miss  Mason 
watched  her  from  the  piano;  but  then  the  door  opened 
and  the  others  returned.  As  the  intruders  went  out,  Miss 
Mason  passed  close  to  Jack.  When  he  drew  back  stiffly 
and  turned  his  face  away,  she  paused  and  said  teasingly :  — 

"  You  haven't  time  to  come  to  see  me  ?  Are  you  too 
busy  with  your  friends  ?  " 

"I  guess  I  don't  want  to  see  you  again,"  the  boy 
blurted  out  bitterly. 

"  Oh ! "  the  girl  laughed.     "  Good  night." 

The  little  adventure  ended  the  dance.  The  girls  and 
men  stood  about  discussing  the  strangers. 

"Your  Mis'  Mather  don't  dress  much  different  from 
us,"  Kuth  observed  scornfully,  to  Hope. 

"  She  don't  have  to,"  Hope  answered  discerningly. 

"She  ain't  a  good  color,  —  just  a  plain  little  girl," 
added  the  barber,  who  resented  his  repulse.  "Now  I 
like  a  real  good  color." 

"  Peony  ?  " 

"  So  you  tried  to  see  if  it  would  wash ! " 

Sadie's  cheeks  flamed  amiably  under  the  chaff.  When 
the  clerk  said  that  it  was  time  for  them  to  start,  Sadie 
consented  to  sit  next  to  Cramp.  As  one  buckboard  had 
been  surrendered  to  General  Mather's  party,  Jack  and 
Kuth  were  crowded  into  the  same  seat  with  Cramp 
and  Jais  partner.  Cramp's  arm  was  about  Sadie's  waist, 
and  his  knuckles  dug  into  Jack's  ribs.  This  contact 
irritated  the  boy,  and  Cramp's  witticisms  about  Miss 
Mather  enraged  him.  The  fact  that  this  girl  who  had 
G 


82  THE   REAL   WOULD 

given  him  his  first  snub  should  have  found  him  there 
with  the  servants  disturbed  him  more  than  Miss  Mason's 
supercilious  manners.  He  seemed  to  prove  that  she  was 
right  as  a  little  girl  in  refusing  his  acquaintanceship. 
And  he  was  angry  with  himself  for  caring  about  this, 
for  being  ashamed  of  his  companions.  What  was  Miss 
Mason  to  him,  or  the  others  ?  These  were  his  people,  — 
Euth  and  Sadie  and  Cramp.  Yet  when  Kuth  made  little 
advances,  he  scarcely  answered  her.  His  face  burned  as 
he  thought  of  their  talk  by  the  lake,  of  how  near  he 
had  been  to  playing  the  fool  with  this  girl.  He  could 
not  help  contrasting  these  women  with  the  girls  in 
General  Mather's  party,  and  though  he  said  to  himself 
contemptuously  "  fine  feathers,"  yet  the  memory  of  their 
pretty  clothes,  their  delicate  features,  and  white-gloved 
hands  imposed  itself  upon  him. 

The  noisy  buckboards  jolted  over  the  stony  roads 
to  the  accompaniment  of  little  shrieks  and  bursts  of 
empty  laughter.  Sadie  squirmed  in  Cramp's  embrace. 
The  pastry-cook  tickled  Ruth  with  a  bayberry  branch 
from  the  seat  behind,  and  Ruth  complained  in  a  queru 
lous  giggle,  until  Jack  turned  and  seized  the  bayberry 
branch  and  flung  it  into  the  road. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Snifty  ? "  the  red 
headed  man  asked  truculently. 

By  the  time  the  buckboard  drew  up  before  his  uncle's 
cottage,  Jack  felt  that  the  party  were  glad  to  be  rid  of 
him.  He  had  been  a  kill-joy. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Sissy,"  the  pastry-cook  called  out,  as  the 
horses  started. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  83 

"  Don't  let  your  'ma  know  you've  been  out  with  the 
girls,"  Cramp  added. 

"  Please  don't !  I'm  too  young ! "  Sadie  cackled  in 
a  falsetto  note. 

The  buckboards  disappeared  down  the  hill  in  a  rattle  of 
small  stones  and  a  cloud  of  dust,  with  a  trailing  sound 
of  loud  laughter.  Jack  kicked  a  pebble  into  the  road 
with  vicious  emphasis.  The  full  moon  shone  placidly 
over  the  fields  and  rocky  shore.  The  little  cottage  lay 
like  a  white  tent  in  the  soft  gleam.  The  unearthly 
stillness  of  the  place  settled  like  a  balm  on  the  boy's 
troubled  spirit. 

What  had  made  him  thrill  in  response  to  that  stupid 
little  girl  ?  How  did  those  men  amuse  themselves  fool 
ing  with  loud-mouthed,  silly  women?  Miss  Mason, 
Ruth,  Sadie,  Hope,  —  all  of  them  were  sickly,  unpleas 
ant  phantoms.  He  stretched  his  strong  young  frame 
with  a  shrug  of  contempt.  His  should  be  a  world  of 
men. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NEVERTHELESS  he  was  not  to  escape  so  lightly  from 
the  world  of  women.  His  fellow-workers  at  the  hotel 
amused  themselves  with  guying  him,  the  girls  more  in 
sistently  than  the  men,  as  if  resenting  his  distaste  for 
their  sex.  And  the  picture  of  the  other  young  women, 
of  Miss  Mason  especially,  haunted  him  with  unprovoked 
tenacity.  He  could  not  seem  to  free  himself  from  the 
images  created  that  night. 

One  day  he  took  himself  off  into  the  woods,  drawn  by 
the  silence  and  the  calm  of  the  purple  hills  across  Green 
Hill  Bay.  His  road  ran  up  the  windings  of  the  Neck, 
across  the  farms  of  Parker's  River,  where  his  people  had 
once  thrived,  around  the  marshy  head-waters  of  the  Bay, 
and  then  into  the  dense  thickets  of  the  slope.  The  day 
was  still,  as  if  summer  were  brooding  over  its  departing 
glories,  but  above  in  the  treetops  of  the  higher  slopes 
there  sounded  now  and  then  the  meditative  rustle  of  the 
autumn  wind.  The  clear  air,  like  an  old,  rare  wine,  was 
warmed  with  the  sun,  which  lay  invitingly  in  the  open 
glades  of  the  forest.  The  exhausted  streams  trickled 
deep  in  their  brown  beds,  talking  in  the  ruminative 
manner  of  the  hills.  As  he  mounted  higher  along  the 
first  ridges  of  the  range,  he  caught  glimpses  of  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Bay  and  the  long,  spruce-wooded  Neck. 

84 


THE  KEAL  WORLD  85 

The  yachts  of  the  summer  people  lay  still  as  chips  be 
yond  the  steamboat  wharf.  On  a  higher  slope,  which 
gave  a  view  of  the  coast  for  many  miles,  edged  to  the 
west  by  a  billowy  sea  of  green  woods,  he  stopped,  content 
with  his  position.  The  sun  drew  out  pungent,  resinous 
scents  from  fir  and  spruce  and  arbor-vitse.  He  threw 
himself  down  on  a  bed  of  dry  moss,  and  thought  as  the 
sun  sloped  down  into  the  woody  plain  behind. 

There  beneath  him  lay  the  fields  where  his  people  had 
lived  and  prospered  and  died  out.  Now  he  knew  what 
it  was  to  be  a  Pemberton !  And  he  knew,  also,  what  his 
mother  and  Steve  aspired  to  be  —  like  those  inhabitants 
of  the  cottages  on  the  Neck,  like  the  people  at  the  hotel 
for  whose  trivial  wants  he  was  hired  to  fetch  and  carry. 
And  he  desired  neither.  The  distorted,  coarsened  figures 
of  his  cousins  Pemberton  told  the  story  of  a  life  of  narrow, 
undeveloping  toil.  And  something  in  his  serious  nature 
made  him  scorn,  likewise,  the  ostentation,  the  cheap 
luxuries  of  "the  city  folks."  Instinctively  he  felt  that 
the  two  were  not  far  apart  in  the  ultimate  standard  of 
things :  Ruth  and  Sadie  and  Cramp,  and  those  they 
served  and  envied.  No !  neither  a  square  white  cottage 
in  the  rocky  fields,  nor  a  "  place  "  on  the  Neck :  life  must 
hold  more  than  these  two  aspirations. 

He  wondered  what  his  father  had  asked  of  life  when 
he  looked  forth,  from  the  same  calm  height,  over  the 
fields  of  the  Pembertons.  Some  impulse  must  have 
stirred  in  that  soul  which  he  had  known  only  in  cloud, 
some  great  thirst  to  taste  the  unknown,  to  sail  out  of  this 
Bay  to  the  larger  fields  of  men.  And  so  he  had  set  forth, 


86  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

under  the  spell  of  this  desire,  to  suffer  shipwreck,  alas! 
only  a  little  way  from  port.  He,  too,  might  meet  the 
same  catastrophe,  moved  from  the  humble  harbor  of  his 
race  by  the  same  blind  desire.  His  jaws  closed  un 
consciously,  broadening  the  hard  sweep  of  his  chin. 
Well,  then,  let  it  be  failure !  For  he  should  make  trial 
of  life,  —  how,  he  was  yet  at  a  loss  to  say.  He  had  few 
landmarks  to  steer  by,  —  the  idle  suggestion  of  an  idle 
woman,  the  imagination  of  a  boy  over  the  privileges  of 
others  !  To  college,  for  a  few  years,  and  then  where  ? 

Some  deep  spirit,  murmuring  like  the  summer  stream 
far  down  in  the  secret  fastness  of  its  rocky  bed,  promised 
that  light  would  shine  upon  the  way.  The  void  of  life, 
the  peaceful  calm  that  had  filled  the  place  of  the  abortive 
images  of  Pancoast  Lane,  would  be  peopled.  Life  would 
come,  the  real  life,  flooding  into  the  empty  bays  like  the 
swift  tides  of  the  north,  —  the  real  life  that  tantalized 
him  now  with  rare  glimpses  of  its  beauty, — yes,  the  real 
world!  He  should  know  what  was  meant  for  eternity 
and  what  was  the  mist  of  the  hour.  .  .  .  - 

His  head  sank  back  on  the  cool  moss,  and  his  eyes 
pierced  the  multitudinous  leafy  forest  to  the  swimming 
blue  above.  The  thick,  syrupy  scents  of  the  oozing  firs 
drowsed  away  his  consciousness ;  the  peace  of  the  large 
woods,  of  the  deep-hearted  sea,  carried  him  away. 

And  the  unpeopled  vista  began  to  fill  with  shapes  of 
men  and  things,  shapes  that  he  had  never  seen  before, 
even  in  his  swift  glimpses  of  the  other  world.  He  moved 
among  them  as  he  would  among  solid  objects,  and  he 
knew  they  were  quite  real,  —  not  fictions  between  him 


THE    REAL   WORLD  87 

and  his  neighbors.  Finally  they  marshalled  off  and  left 
him  climbing,  climbing,  swinging  upwards  through  a  cool 
forest  of  exquisite  shade,  with  flashes  of  light  like  glints 
from  steel  swords,  until  he  was  alone,  yet  suddenly  not 
all  alone.  For  a  woman  was  looking  at  him,  —  some  one 
who  knew  an  incredible  amount  that  he  did  not,  and  yet 
who  supplicated  him  with  a  smiling  glance.  She  seemed 
to  sketch  stories  of  strange  lives  playfully,  as  if  knowl 
edge  were  nothing,  and  at  the  same  time  to  plead  with 
him  for  protection  against  —  what  ?  To  plead  for  love 
and  tenderness.  Her  face  was  more  living  than  any 
human  face  he  had  ever  seen ;  the  muscles  of  her  bare 
neck  rippled  under  the  repression  of  speech;  and  the 
skin  of  her  cheeks  and  temples  had  the  silkiness  of  vital 
flesh.  She  was  so  immensely  tender !  and  yet  so  plead 
ing  with  him  for  protection,  beautifully  supplicant ! 
He  found  himself  asking  her,  almost  pettishly ,  "  Where 
have  you  been  all  this  time  ? " 

And  when  she  smiled,  he  added,  more  masterfully :  — 
"I  don't  like  living  with  shadows.     Don't  go  away 
again.     I  knew  you  were  somewhere.     Come,  let  us  go 
home  and  be  happy." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  lead  her  over  the  rocks, 
and  found  the  place  very  dark.  He  turned  over  to  get 
at  the  light  and  her,  and  then  he  knew  that  she  was  not 
there. 

As  he  betook  himself  down  the  dark  hills,  he  was  quite 
sure  that  she  lived.  This  woman's  eager,  speaking  face 
was  utterly  unlike  the  countenance  of  any  woman  he  had 


88  THE   REAL   WORLD 

ever  seen.  Yet  was  she  much  more  real  than  anything 
vouchsafed  him  hitherto!  He  could  turn  his  eyes  on 
that  vision  at  will,  and  feel  the  living,  breathing  actuality 
of  it.  It  thrilled  through  his  seuses  with  a  richness,  an 
intimacy  of  emotion,  that  he  had  never  imagined.  He 
was  fearful  lest  it  should  prove  a  picture  of  the  hour, 
fading  as  he  emerged  into  the  dusk  of  the  lower  fields, 
like  the  purple  garment  of  the  hills.  So,  while  he  brushed 
on  through  the  dew-scented  grass,  he  kept  turning  his 
thoughts  to  her,  suffusing  himself  with  the  subtle  con 
sciousness  of  her  existence  while  it  lasted,  as  the  heated 
bather  plunges  his  fiery  face  again  and  again  into  the 
water.  Each  moment  he  feared  would  be  the  last,  but, 
to  his  joy,  he  discovered  that  it  went  on,  this  intimacy 
with  the  real,  sharpening  itself,  rather  than  dulling,  by 
use. 

And  for  months  and  years  thereafter  in  all  the  troub 
lesome  fret  of  the  intangible  world,  this  vision  of  the 
real  stayed  with  him,  keener  at  some  periods,  fainter  at 
others,  like  a  scarce-perceived  scent  about  things  laid 
away.  But  always  fragrant  with  its  own  ineffable  sweet 
ness  and  tenderness,  filling  his  soul  with  yearning,  with 
belief,  with  courage. 


CHAPTER   IX 

HE  did  not  forget  the  girl  who  had  given  him  the  first 
great  purpose  of  his  youth.  As  he  passed  the  Masons' 
cottage  twice  a  day,  he  secretly  desired  the  courage 
to  go  in.  He  knew  that  the  Masons  with  the  Mathers 
and  a  few  other  families  were  to  linger  on  into  the 
golden  second  summer.  Most  of  the  cottages  were  clos 
ing  one  by  one;  the  hotel  was  to  be  shut  at  the  end  of 
the  next  week.  Then  he  would  have  ten  days  to  him 
self  for  his  mathematics  and  Latin  before  the  exami 
nations  began.  The  tutor,  who  remained  for  Ned 
Mather,  had  promised  to  give  him  more  help.  The  tutor 
thought  he  had  a  fair  chance  of  passing  in  enough  sub 
jects  to  admit  him  to  Harvard. 

One  afternoon  he  met  Miss  Mason  on  the  road  near  her 
cottage.  He  was  hurrying  diffidently  past  with  a  bare 
word,  but  she  stopped  him  and  stood  to  chat. 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time  the  other  night  at  your 
party  ?  "  she  asked  familiarly. 

"  No ! "  he  answered  shortly,  offended  at  the  easy  im 
pudence  she  showed  in  referring  to  the  occasion  where 
she  had  snubbed  him.  He  would  have  left  her,  if  he 
had  known  how  to  do  so. 

"I  saw  that  the  thin  little  girl  with  the  red  cheeks 
was  making  eyes  at  you.  Ruth  —  isn't  that  her  name  ? 

89 


90  THE   REAL   WOULD 

Her  mother  does  our  washing.  If  you  don't  look  out, 
Ruth  will  snare  you.  And  the  big  one,  too,  the  one  you 
were  dancing  with.  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"Why  do  you  talk  about  them  to  me?"  Jack  ex 
claimed  angrily.  "  You  despise  them  and  me.  I  guess 
they're  all  right,  as  good  as  the  folks  up  at  the  hotel. 
Besides,  I'm  not  going  to  bother  with  girls !  " 

"  Oh ! "  she  bowed  mockingly.  "  Good  afternoon,  Mr. 
Pemberton." 

The  glossy  leaves  of  a  rank  blackberry  creeper  threw 
flickering  shadows  over  the  girl's  fair  skin.  In  spite  of 
her  words,  she  did  not  move,  but  looked  into  his  face 
with  a  teasing  smile. 

"I'm  going  to  college  this  fall,"  he  explained,  "and 
maybe  I  shan't  come  back  to  the  hotel." 

"  Mr.  Ferris,  the  tutor,  told  me  you  meant  to  try  the 
examinations.  Do  you  think  you  can  pass  ?  " 

"  Somehow ! "  he  answered  lightly,  with  the  assurance 
that  might  send  him  straight  on  his  path.  "  I  guess  I 
won't  be  a  star,  but  I'll  get  in  somehow." 

"  What  do  your  aunt  and  uncle  think  of  it  ?  " 

"Just  Pemberton  foolishness,"  Jack  replied,  with  a 
laugh.  "  Which  way  were  you  going  ?  "  he  added,  for 
getting  his  resentment. 

"Nowhere  just  yet;  to  the  Mathers'  later." 

"The  Mathers  used  to  live  near  us  at  Riverside.  I 
didn't  expect  to  find  them  up  here,"  Jack  remarked 
irrelevantly. 

"  General  Mather's  house  was  the  first  summer  cottage 
on  the  Neck.  Did  you  know  them  ?  " 


THE   EEAL   WORLD  91 

"  No,"  Jack  answered  quickly,  and  then  added,  "  Do 
you  like  them  —  the  Mathers  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  the  girl  responded  impassively.  "They're 
great  swells  in  their  way  —  and  snobs." 

The  characterization  was  precisely  what  his  own  would 
have  been,  yet  it  displeased  him  to  have  her  use  those 
words.  They  jarred  with  the  unconscious  ideal  of  refine 
ment  he  had  created  for  her.  And  it  surprised  him  to 
find  that  in  this  world  of  summer  leisure  where  she  lived 
there  were  grades,  differences,  circles  within  circles. 

"I  see  something  of  Ned  Mather  at  the  hotel.  He 
seems  to  be  a  good  fellow." 

"Oh!  he's  slated  for  the  usual  thing  —  all  the  best 
clubs  at  Harvard,  and  a  chair  in  papa's  office  when  he 
graduates." 

"  I  thought  General  Mather  wasn't  in  business,"  Jack 
observed  with  curiosity. 

"Did  you  never  hear  of  the  banking  firm  of  Lord, 
Mather,  and  Greenacre  ?  The  General  doesn't  do  much. 
His  eldest  son  goes  to  the  office  when  he  hasn't  anything 
better  to  do.  They  just  keep  the  firm  going,  it's  so  old 
and  respectable.  They  made  their  money  in  cotton  mills 
years  and  years  ago,  and  so  they  have  the  right  to  look 
down  on  any  money  that's  come  since  the  war." 

"  Do  you  see  much  of  'em  in  New  York  ?  "  Jack  ven 
tured  to  ask. 

The- girl  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"  You  don't  mind  asking  questions !  I  never  met  them 
before  this  summer.  When  we  return,  Mr.  Eoger  will 
probably  pay  his  respects  to  me  once  or  twice,  but  his 


92       •  THE  REAL  WORLD 

mother  and  sister  won't.  Is  there  anything  more  I  can 
tell  you  about  my  affairs  ?  " 

"  I  didn'  t  mean  to  be  impertinent,"  Jack  answered 
penitently ;  "  only  you  know  such  a  lot  more  about  peo 
ple  and  things  than  I  do." 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  the  girl  responded  warmly. 
"  Come,  let's  do  something.  Don' t  you  want  to  cut  your 
job  for  an  hour  or  two  ?  I  am  not  dying  for  the  Mathers' 
society  this  afternoon." 

"  I'll  sail  you  over  to  Seal  Island,"  Jack  suggested  im 
pulsively,  grateful  for  her  kindness,  which  was  but  the 
whim  of  a  capricious  will.  "The  surf  is  great  there 
now." 

They  turned  up  the  road  in  the  direction  of  the  boat- 
landing,  Jack  tremulous  with  sudden  pleasure,  his  tongue 
tied  with  multitudinous  thoughts,  unexpected  things  he 
wanted  to  say  to  this  strange,  beautiful,  impulsive  crea 
ture.  They  passed  the  tennis  courts  at  the  hotel,  where 
the  young  people  of  the  settlement  were  gathered.  They 
hailed  Miss  Mason  frequently,  and  she  stopped  to  chat  now 
and  then,  while  Jack  watched  her  furtively,  fearful  lest 
she  might  escape  him.  On  the  float  were  a  large  party 
who  were  preparing  for  a  sail,  and  as  soon  as  Miss  Mason 
appeared,  she  was  greeted  with  an  approving  chorus. 
The  girl  enjoyed  the  commotion  she  created,  and  she 
enjoyed  still  more  the  looks  of  amusement  and  surprise 
which  came  when  she  refused  to  join  them.  At  last  they 
pushed  off,  and  Jack  was  relieved.  Suddenly  a  new 
danger  appeared  in  the  person  of  young  Mather,  who 
came  ashore  from  a  yacht  anchored  in  the  cove.  Jack, 


THE   KEAL   WORLD  93 

whose  heart  had  been  jubilant,  saw  himself  discredited. 
When  Roger  Mather  approached  Miss  Mason  with  an 
air  of  special  ownership,  as  if  their  meeting  had  been 
the  most  expected  thing,  Miss  Mason's  flippant  manner 
changed;  she  was  almost  ill  at  ease.  Mather  spoke  to 
her  in  low  tones,  and  she  seemed  to  hesitate.  Then  in  a 
moment  she  responded  unhesitatingly :  — 

"Sorry,  but  Mr.  Pemberton  and  I  are  going  over  to 
Seal  Island." 

The  young  man  looked  over  the  girl's  head  at  Jack 
with  the  impertinence  of  perfect  self-possession. 

"  Ah ! "  he  observed,  and  he  loitered  on  the  landing 
stage  while  Jack  got  the  boat  ready,  hoisted  the  sail,  and 
pushed  off.  Miss  Mason's  face  had  clouded  over,  and 
Jack,  though  grateful  to  her  for  her  kindness,  was  sorry 
that  he  should  be  the  means  of  her  embarrassment.  As 
the  boat  floated  out  from  the  calm  water  of  the  cove,  he 
thought  of  the  gay,  prettily  dressed  girls,  the  handsome 
young  fellows  with  slightly  arrogant  manners,  to  whom 
Miss  Mason  belonged.  These  sons  and  daughters  of 
wealth,  for  whom  he  labored  in  a  menial  position,  ordi 
narily  meant  nothing  to  him.  They  had  their  horse- 
show,  their  library  fair,  their  dances,  their  picnics,  their 
dinners,  and  made  a  great  fuss  over  their  amusements. 
For  all  that,  he  had  had  a  mild  contempt  and  no  envy. 
They  passed  him  on  the  hotel  verandas,  on  the  road,  in 
the-shops,  at  the  landing  stage,  and  he  was  merely  not 
one  of  them :  he  was  an  unf elt  ghost.  But  to-day,  this 
afternoon,  while  he  waited  when  she  stopped  to  gossip 
with  them,  his  feelings  had  changed.  What  made  them 


94  THE   REAL   WORLD 

all  so  different!  The  girls  whose  fathers  had  often 
started  their  lives  in  more  sordid  lines  than  his  had  the 
elusive,  faintly  aristocratic  air  which  wealth  gives  the 
American  woman.  The  possession  of  riches — that  was 
the  necessary  step  toward  being  one  of  this  gay  little 
world.  Then,  as  he  reflected  upon  the  strange  influence 
the  Mathers  seemed  to  have  over  Miss  Mason,  he  felt 
that  something  more  than  money  was  ultimately  neces 
sary.  The  boy  was  anxious  to  learn  what  this  difference 
might  be. 

"Do  you  like  Roger  Mather  especially?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  No,"  Miss  Mason  answered  promptly.  She  had  been 
pondering  some  matters  also.  She  added  frankly:  "He 
is  very  much  the  gentleman  —  well-bred,  all  that  you  know, 
more  like  foreign  men,  —  an  Englishman  of  good  family." 

In  a  few  moments  Jack  returned  to  the  subject. 

"  Why  are  the  Mathers  better  than  the  others  ?  You 
treat  them  differently.  Every  one  does  here.  You  were 
ashamed  to  know  me  the  other  day  when  I  was  with  the 
hotel  crowd,  just  because  the  Mathers  happened  to  be 
there." 

"  You  are  a  boy,"  Miss  Mason  laughed  back,  not  dis 
turbed  at  his  accusation.  "  I  suppose  it's  because  most 
of  us  are  nouveaux,  and  the  General  has  real  position. 
That's  something  you  can't  buy  all  at  once.  See  ?  " 

Jack  nodded.  His  next  remark  was  quite  as  blunt  as 
the  former. 

"Are  you  much  older  than  I  am?  You  seem  young 
and  old.  When  you're  with  folks,  —  people," — he  cor- 


THE    REAL   WORLD  95 

rected  his  idiom,  —  "  you  are  as  old  as  the  rest,  but  with 
me—" 

"I'm  nearly  twenty,"  Miss  Mason  answered  soberly. 
"You  haven't  seen  as  much  as  I  have,  and  a  woman's 
older  anyway." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  —  " 

He  was  about  to  say  something  that  he  already  recog 
nized  would  be  rude,  but  refrained. 

"  What  is  it  you  wanted  to  ask  me  ? "  she  said, 
settling  back  in  her  seat  as  if  she  had  forgotten  the  Neck. 

"  Why  were  you  so  —  horrid  the  other  night  at  Clear 
Lake?  You  despised  those  folks,  —  people,  —  and  you 
despised  me  for  being  there.  But  I'm  no  better  than  they 
are.  We  are  all  as  good  as  the  next,  I  guess,"  he  ended 
belligerently,  with  the  American  faith  in  pure  democracy. 

"That's  all  rot,"  the  girl  answered  calmly.  "Are 
those  the  people  you  want  to  live  with  ?  Do  you  expect 
to  grow  up  here  and  marry  one  of  them,  a  kitchen  girl, 
out  of  this  hotel  ?  I  don't  believe  it.  I  knew  from  the 
moment  I  saw  you  that  you  weren't  that  kind.  Now, 
don't  talk  any  nonsense  about  their  being  as  good  as 
ourselves.  Of  course  they  are  in  the  Constitution  and 
before  God,  but  in  the  eyes  of  man  they  aren't  The 
first  thing  for  you  to  learn  is  that  they  aren't  like  you, 
that  your  life  is  going  to  be  lots  bigger,  richer,  stronger, 
more  interesting,  than  theirs.  And  the  sooner  you  feel 
that,  the  luckier  for  you." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  in  simple  amazement,  and  she 
continued  authoritatively :  — 

"I've  been  all  through  that.     Out  in  Zenobia,  Ohio, 


96  THE   REAL   WORLD 

where  we  used  to  live,  I  wasn't  so  very  different  from  Sadie 
and  Ruth.  We  had  an  ugly,  pine-shingled  Queen  Anne 
house  upon  a  clay  road  back  of  the  town.  It  was  filled 
with  Grand  Rapids  stuff,  —  chairs  and  tables  and  hideous 
carved  things,  like  hotel  furniture,  —  you  know  what 
that  is  ?  We  knew  the  people  of  the  place,  —  all  there 
were,  —  but  that  wasn't  much.  Mother  knew  more  than 
father  about — the  other  kind  of  life;  and  she  sent  me 
away  to  school  to  Pitthampton.  That  didn't  do  much 
good :  most  of  the  girls  were  like  me,  —  only  had  more 
money.  Then  papa  made  some  money,  and  mother  and 
I  went  to  Europe.  Oh!  I've  seen  a  bit  of  the  world. 
I've  been  all  around,  living  in  hotels  for  months,  years 
almost;  and  I  have  learned  to  know  my  way  among 
people  a  little.  Do  you  suppose  /  could  afford  to  be 
chummy  with  Sadie  and  Ruth  and  yoiT,  and  the  Mathers 
standing  around,  and  saying  to  themselves,  'That's  her 
kind'?  Not  yet!" 

"  So  you  like  only  rich  people." 

Miss  Mason  looked  at  Jack  contemptuously ;  her 
energetic  exposition  had  been  thrown  away.  Just  then 
the  boat  grated  on  the  gravel  shore  of  Seal  Island,  and 
Jack  helped  his  companion  over  the  boulder-strewn 
beach.  They  climbed  the  cliffs  to  the  cool  shade  of  the 
big  firs,  and  then  crossed  the  island  and  gained  the  mas 
sive,  rocky  fortress  which  breasted  the  open  seas.  The 
swell  boomed  beneath  them  in  the  hollows  of  the  granite, 
flinging  upward  salty  spume.  The  girl  settled  herself 
in  the  sunny  lee  of  a  rock  and  resumed  the  topic  where 
they  had  broken  off. 


THE   HEAL  WORLD  97 

"No!  I  don't  like  only  rich  people,  or  swell  people. 
I  like  you  a  lot,  when  you  aren't  silly  1 " 

She  looked  into  his  earnest  face  without  a  trace  of 
coquetry. 

"  And  I  am  going  to  tell  you  some  things  which  you 
will  have  to  learn,  —  things  you  ought  to  know  already. 
There  are  somebodies  and  nobodies  in  this  world,  and  if 
you've  got  any  spirit  in  you,  you  want  to  be  a  somebody." 

"  What's  the  use  of  being  a  somebody  ?  "  Jack  asked 
rather  meekly. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  impatiently. 

"  Do  you  have  to  ask  that  ?  What's  the  use  of  living  ? 
do  you  have  to  be  told  that  ?  W"hy,  we  Americans  have 
the  most  glorious  chance  that  ever  was.  Do  you  see,  — 
people  like  you  and  me,  just  plain  people  from  nowhere 
with  nothing  behind  them,  with  money  or  without  if 
necessary,  —  we  can  do  what  we  like.  We  can  be  what 
we  like.  We  can  know  the  people  we  want  to  —  we  can 
conquer  the  world,  if  we  are  big  enough." 

She  stopped  breathlessly. 

"Perhaps,"  Jack  assented  dubiously.  The  glowing 
phrases  hadn't  much  significance  for  him.  "Do  you  mean 
to  conquer  the  world  ?  "  he  asked  naively 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  a  thousand  times ! "  she  laughed  back. 
"Watch  me!  There  are  a  dozen  worlds  I  can't  know 
now;  but  wait!  I'm  only  twenty,  and  I  have  fifteen 
yeaj;s  to  go  this  way,  that  way.  I  shall  marry.  Of 
course  I  shall  marry.  I  shall  try  this  and  that,  but  I 
shall  come  out ! " 

She  shook  her  head,  half  playfully. 


98 

"And  you?"  she  asked  soberly.  "A  man  has  so 
much  more  chance." 

"  I  must  learn  something." 

"College  is  only  the  beginning — mere  nothing.  What 
will  you  do  after,  that's  it.  Will  you  be  content  to  sit 
around  here,  —  lawyer,  doctor,  hotel-keeper  ?  Do  you 
feel  strong  enough  to  get  down  into  the  fight  in  the  big 
rings  ?  Can  you  make  money,  and  make  the  little  men 
buckle  under  to  you,  and  the  women  give  you  what  you 
want  ?  That's  what  it  is  to  be  a  man  ! " 

The  strong  spirit  of  the  girl's  will  fired  the  youth, 
supple  to  impulse  from  woman  as  man  has  been  from  the 
beginning. 

"  So  that  is  the  other  world ! "  he  murmured,  his  eyes 
staring  into  the  fog-banks. 

"  This  world,  my  friend, "  the  girl  said  excitedly.  "  Oh, 
of  course,  there  are  other  things :  being  good,  excessively 
good,  and  sacrifice,  and  religion,  and  all  that.  But  I 
don't  believe  a  man  who  is  a  man  ever  feels  the  call  that 
way  first  hand.  He  wants  to  triumph,  to  fight  with  his 
fellows.  Don't  you  ?  " 

And  in  the  glamour  of  the  moment,  Jack  answered 
literally :  — 

"  Yes !     And  if  I  win  —  " 

"I  shall  be  proud  to  know  you,  and  I'll  help  you — and 
a  woman  can  help  —  an  American  woman — " 

"  And  if  I  fail  ?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders  dramatically.  "I 
never  know  failures ! " 

There  was  a  touch  of  hardness  in  her  voice,  but  the 


THE  REAL   WORLD  99 

fresh  words  that  poured  tumultuously  forth  destroyed  the 
impression. 

"But  there  is  no  failure — pluck,  some  brains,  health — 
you've  all  those.  And  then  a  fair  field,  some  money  to 
get,  some  stupid  thousands  of  men  and  women  to  drive 
your  way.  Oh!  what  a  lovely  country  is  ours!  I  could 
wish  to  have  been  born  a  man,  if  I  hadn't  been  a  woman." 

She  laughed  at  her  own  wild  mood. 

"  Come,  we  must  be  friends — "  she  held  out  her  hand. 
".You'll  get  blue.  You  won't  think  it  pays.  You'll  see 
a  nice  little  Ruth  in  the  lane  some  day,  and  when  she  puts 
her  head  on  your  shoulders,  you'll  think  you  want  to 
marry  her  —  and  that  would  be  the  end  of  you.  Remem 
ber  what  I  say :  there's  nothing  like  being  a  nouveau,  if 
you've  got  the  wit  and  the  grit  to  make  the  world  accept 
you.  As  I  mean  it  shall ! "  she  ended  more  meditatively, 
her  gray  eyes  staring  out  at  the  empty  horizon.  Then 
the  humor  of  her  words  rushed  over  her,  and  she  laughed 
buoyantly.  "  My !  what  a  big  talk  I've  been  giving  you ! 
But  you  see,  your  situation  interests  me.  You  and  I  are 
rather  by  the  way  of  being  in  the  same  boat.  My  career 
is  as  much  to  make  as  yours." 

The  young  fellow  listened  abashed,  unconscious  of  the 
erratic  frankness,  the  egotism,  the  maturity  and  imma 
turity  of  the  girl.  When  she  paused,  he  said  simply :  — 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me — more,  what  you  mean  by 
'career ' — tell  me  all  you've  done.  I  want  to  know  you." 

The  gray  eyes  rested  on  his  eager  face  for  a  few  con 
templative  moments.  The  mobile  mouth  smiled  at  his 
simplicity  and  boyishness.  Something  in  his  direct, 


100  THE  REAL   WORLD 

ignorant  manner,  however,  appealed  to  the  woman  ;  some 
thing  in  her  own  restless,  self-absorbed  SOM!  prompted 
her  to  confidence. 

Jack  Pemberton  never  forgot  those  wonderful  hours 
on  the  sea- washed  rocks,  just  above  the  insistent  grum 
ble  of  the  ocean.  The  girl  —  woman,  rather  —  told  him 
the  story  of  her  drifting  life,  from  Zenobia,  Ohio,  and 
New  York  to  Pau  and  Trouville  and  Paris,  Dresden, 
Rome,  and  London.  Such  wonderful  talk  he  had  never 
heard,  such  pictures  of  many  new  and  strange  people,  as 
he  saw  in  the  vivid,  slangy  phrases  of  this  girl !  She 
described  the  men  of  Zenobia  where  her  father  had  his 
silver-plate  factory,  the  New  York  school  where  she 
had  first  learned  social  distinctions,  the  New  York 
hotels  that  reeked  with  lavish  expenditure,  the  Ameri 
cans —  men  and  women — who  wander  like  a  herd  of 
semi-domesticated  cattle  across  the  face  of  Europe ! 
Mr.  Mason's  fortunes  had  bobbed  up  and  down.  When 
they  were  low,  the  wife  and  daughter  had  flitted  to 
Europe,  and  when  they  were  high,  they  had  come  back 
to  New  York  hotels  and  restaurants,  —  lavish  temporary 
quarters  where  they  lived  as  they  lived  in  Europe,  ever 
suspecting  some  new  mandate  of  fortune.  There  were 
many  acquaintances  of  the  table  d'hote,  or  hotel  ve 
randa,  and  few  friends.  The  brother  had  been  sent  to 
St.  Jacques,  and  was  now  in  Harvard,  —  a  fact  which 
explained  the  appearance  of  the  family  in  Pemberton 
Neck. 

The  girl  had  relished  this  salad  existence,  welcoming 


THE   REAL  WORLD  101 

change,  content  with  the  temporary  aspect  of  things. 
Hitherto  she  had  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  society,  but 
now,  with  irresistible  charm  and  gallant  will,  she  was 
contemplating  a  new  campaign,  the  significance  of  which 
Jack  could  but  partially  realize. 

"So,"  she  concluded,  "you  can  see  that  our  friends, 
the  Mathers,  are  important  to  me.  As  I  told  you,  they 
are  somebodies,  and  I  am  tired  of  nobodies." 

There  may  have  been  a  suspicion  in  the  young  fellow's 
mind  that  her  brilliant  summary  of  the  ends  of  living 
was  inadequate  on  some  sides ;  that  it  might  be  enough 
to  be  strong  and  tender  and  fine  without  seeking  the  rich 
foods  of  the  world.  But  he  would  have  put  the  idea  from 
his  mind.  What  was  good  in  her  eyes  would  be  his  good. 

While  they  had  talked,  the  sun  had  dipped  beyond  the 
purple  crests  of  Green  Hill,  leaving  a  cold,  black  shadow 
on  the  rocks.  Miss  Mason  sprang  up,  exclaiming :  — 

"You've  made  me  miss  my  dinner,  and  Mr.  Gushing 
is  there !  Come,  take  me  home ! "  she  commanded  with 
a  new  intimacy  in  her  tone. 

"  I  should  have  been  at  the  hotel  hours  ago,"  he  re 
joined,  luxuriating  in  his  freedom. 

"What  will  they  do  to  you ? " 

"  The  clerk  will  row  me,"  he  admitted.  "  But  I  don't 
care.  I  never  was  so  happy  in  my  life.  Things  mean  so 
much  more  now." 

—  The  girl  laughed  joyously.  Her  eyes  danced  with  the 
glory  of  this  new  conquest,  this  new  possession,  and  with 
a  little  mockery  of  herself  and  of  him. 

"  Well,  then,"  she  said,  "  you  will  have  to  take  dinner 


102  THE   REAL   WORLD 

with  me,  and  give  the  clerk  something  more  to  row  you 
about." 

They  found  the  boat  afloat,  and  the  rocks  on  which 
they  had  landed,  under  water.  Jack  turned  to  the  girl 
with  more  confidence  than  he  had  ever  displayed. 

"  I  shall  have  to  carry  you." 

Lifting  her  in  his  arms,  he  strode  out  into  the  water 
toward  the  boat,  seeking  carefully  his  footing  on  the 
slippery  rocks.  She  made  no  protests,  expressed  no  self- 
conscious  pruderies,  but  held  the  young  fellow's  shoulders 
firmly,  studying  his  earnest  face  with  her  keen  eyes. 
The  complete  confidence  and  simplicity  of  the  girl 
touched  a  fresh  chord  of  tenderness  in  him.  He  would 
have  borne  her  thus  steadily  for  long  miles,  until  his 
strength  gave  out.  As  he  placed  her  gently  in  the  stern 
of  the  boat  she  murmured  appreciatively :  — 

"  What  a  strong  man ! " 

He  wrapped  her  deftly  in  a  rug,  for  the  wind  had 
freshened,  and  tucked  cushions  here  and  there.  It  was 
not  love  —  this  exquisite  pleasure  of  serving.  He  did 
not  know  the  first  step  of  love,  and  if  he  had,  such  a  con 
sciousness  toward  this  girl,  who  seemed  to  lean  down  to 
him  from  some  more  brilliant  star,  would  have  made  him 
sneer  at  himself.  It  was  not  love ;  but  if  she  had  needed 
it,  he  would  have  taken  out  his  strong  heart  and  handed 
it  to  her  to  play  with. 

As  the  little  boat  floated  up  to  the  landing  stage  in  the 
evening  shadows,  Miss  Mason  leaned  forward  impulsively. 

"  We're  such  good  friends,  aren't  we  ?  " 

Jack  merely  nodded,  not  knowing  any  fit  words. 


CHAPTER  X 

"ELSIE'S  cub,"  Gushing  called  him,  with  a  laugh  that 
was  full  of  sous-entendu  for  men.  Mather,  in  response  to 
the  phrase,  smiled  contemptuously.  Secretly  he  thought 
as  poorly  of  Gushing  as  of  the  cub ;  Elsie's  crowd  were 
all  rather  common.  Yet  he  had  taken  more  vacation  than 
usual  this  summer,  and  had  spent  most  of  it  at  the  Neck. 

"  Yes,  my  cub,"  the  girl  took  up  the  phrase  as  a  chal 
lenge  ;  "  and,  see  here,  Bushy,  you  are  a  wise  man :  be 
nice  to  the  cub.  That's  all !  " 

Gushing,  who  had  just  snubbed  young  Pemberton, 
flicked  his  glasses,  and  Miss  Mason,  with  rising  color, 
continued :  — 

"Yes;  he's  only  a  country  boy,  —  he's  nobody,  — you 
won't  tread  on  anybody's  toes  if  you  are  small  and  mean 
to  him,  except  mine." 

"Ami  des  femmes!"  interpolated  Mather,  trying  to 
break  what  he  would  call  the  girl's  rowdy  mood. 

This  interruption  won  a  bitter  glance  from  the  gray 
eyes. 

"  I  say,  Bushy,  you  shall  be  nice  to  him.  What  are 
we  ?•  What  am  I  ?  What  are  you?  His  name  is  better 
than  mine,  and  maybe  some  day,  Bushy,  you  and  I 
shall  be  glad  we  can  say  we  knew  him.  Nonsense! 
I  don't  mean  that  —  that's  snobby  and  cheap,  and  he  isn't 

103 


104  THE   REAL   WORLD 

that.  Do  you  know  any  one  in  our  acquaintance  who  has 
that  head  —  " 

"And  those  clothes." 

"  And  those  shoulders." 

"  I  hear  he's  going  to  Harvard,"  added  Mather.  "  He'll 
have  rather  a  dull  time." 

"Why  should  he?  He's  got  twice  the  stuff  in  him 
Frank  has,  or  —  " 

"Ned?"  Mather  suggested.  "Well,  you  see  clever 
ness  hasn't  much  to  do  with  having  a  good  time  in  this 
world." 

"No!"  the  girl  admitted  bitterly.  "Worse  luck!" 
And  for  that  speech  Roger  Mather  counselled  his  sister 
not  to  be  too  intimate  in  her  farewells.  "They've  come 
here  to  get  in.  She's  clever  and  clear  sport  —  but  loud, 
and  the  mother  and  father !  You  don't  want  to  shoulder 
them  in  New  York." 

The  women  had  arrived  at  this  conclusion  indepen 
dently.  Elsie  Mason,  her  best  friends  admitted,  was 
"loud";  the  older  feminine  critics  said  "vulgar."  Miss 
Chesney,  who  stood  midway  in  liberality,  held  that  her 
honesty  was  always  giving  her  needless  reprobation. 
"  She  is  so  loud  that  you  can  hear  her  a  block  off,  but 
she  is  amusing  and  she  knows  better.  Some  day  when 
it  suits  her  fancy  she  will  be  the  primest  thing  in  life." 

No  one  accused  her  of  being  sentimental  or. flirta 
tious,  although  she  was  intimate  with  men  rather  than 
with  women.  She  treated  all  men  with  the  brusque 
honesty,  the  unsexual  frankness,  that  she  had  shown  to 
the  boy, 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  105 

"You're  too  ambitious  to  care  for  one  man,"  Gushing 
told  her  once,  with  the  smart  of  having  followed  her  in 
vain  since  she  was  a  child. 

"  Because  you  don't  meet  my  ambition  ? "  she  had 
retorted  imperturbably. 

And  he  wondered  what  her  figure  might  be,  as  he 
crassly  phrased  it. 

If  she  had  not  conciliated  the  critical  spirits  of  Pem- 
berton  Neck,  her  brother  Frank  had  made  ample  amends. 
He  had  attached  himself  to  Ned  Mather  at  St.  Jacques, 
and  thanks  to  the  Mather  influence  had  "made  the 
Dickey"  and  was  on  the  right  road  at  Harvard.  He  had 
selected  Pemberton  Neck  for  his  family,  because  of  the 
Mathers,  the  Chesneys,  the  Sewalls,  and  other  good  peo 
ple,  who  had  had  places  there  ever  since  the  north  shore 
existed.  To  his  disappointment,  Elsie  had  succeeded 
only  indifferently  in  establishing  the  same  cordial  rela 
tions  that  he  enjoyed  with  these  people.  The  men 
flocked  about  her,  but  the  women  looked  at  her  coldly 
across  tea-tables.  Prank  was  popular  all  along  the  coast 
from  Nahant  to  Campobello.  He  was  a  pretty  boy,  with 
regular  features,  a  perpetual  smile,  and  an  apparently 
frank  manner.  He  could  do  passably  well  all  outdoor 
sports,  sing  a  little,  and  write  a  little  music.  His  sister's 
freakish  interest  in  the  young  clerk  at  the  hotel  was  abso 
lutely  incomprehensible  to  him.  Since  he  had  turned 
fifteen  there  had  existed  for  him  but  one  class  of  people, 
—  those  worth  knowing.  And  with  all  the  pertinacity 
of  the  good  parasite,  he  inserted  his  tendrils  here  and 
there  in  the  crannies  of  the  strong  social  wall. 


106  THE   REAL   WORLD 

He  was  attentive  to  Isabelle  Mather,  and  his  sister 
helped  him  with  the  girl  where  she  could.  Brother  and 
sister  had  a  tacit  agreement  about  their  various  purposes. 
But  hers  were  the  larger  views. 

"You  must  have  courage  enough  to  know  the  un 
known,"  she  said  to  him  these  days,  observing  his 
supercilious  politeness  to  Jack.  "  Until  you  are  strong 
enough  to  be  daring  you  won't  arrive.  Isabelle  would  be 
the  first  to  detect  your  little  weakness,  brother." 

Likewise,  when  their  genial  father  arrived  to  spend  the 
last  days  of  the  season  with  his  family,  she  gloried  in  him 
almost  ostentatiously,  while  Frank  was  unpleasantly  con 
scious  of  Mr.  Mason's  evident  inferiority  to  the  distin 
guished  General,  whose  daughter  he  sought.  There  was 
something  in  the  gambling,  roving  nature  of  the  Ohio 
manufacturer  that  the  daughter  shared.  He  had  won 
and  lost  two  small  fortunes  since  he  had  sold  the  silver- 
plate  business  and  moved  from  Zenobia  to  New  York. 
Elsie  remembered  how,  three  years  before,  he  had  an 
nounced  his  second  reverse  jovially  at  the  dinner-table 
over  a  glass  of  champagne. 

"I'm  cleaned  out,  old  girl." 

While  Mrs.  Mason  was  absorbing  the  horror  of  the 
news,  Elsie  had  kissed  her  father's  fat  cheeks,  saying :  — 

"  You  dear  thing,  stop  your  poker  and  don't  make  us 
beggars.  Mamma  will  go  over  to  Aix  this  time." 

And  with  many  sighs  Mrs.  Mason  had  packed  her  eight 
trunks  and,  leaving  Frank  at  Harvard,  had  gone  obedi 
ently  to  Aix.  There  Elsie  had  had  affairs  with  men, 
and  finally,  in  consternation,  Mrs.  Mason  had  packed 


THE   REAL   WORLD  107 

her  trunks  hastily,  and  they  had  sailed  to  New  York, 
Mr.  Mason  welcoming  them  on  the  dock  as  jovially  as 
he  had  sped  them  the  year  before.  He  was  making 
money  once  more,  he  said,  and  that  summer  they  had 
gone  for  the  first  time  to  Pemberton  Neck.  The  follow 
ing  summer,  as  Mr.  Mason  continued  to  make  money, 
they  had  rented  the  Peters'  cottage.  Gushing  was  one 
of  the  few  people  whom  the  family  knew  that  Mr.  Mason 
also  knew ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  Gushing,  the  fat, 
white-haired  little  man  would  have  been  at  a  loss  for 
diversion  in  Pemberton  Neck,  so  far  from  his  two  daily 
games.  He  understood  Gushing,  who  knew  how  to  make 
money,  and  whenever  Mr.  Mason  visited  his  family,  Gush 
ing  was  more  intimate  than  ever  at  the  Peters'  cottage. 

All  these  people  Jack  watched  and  wondered  about, 
trying  to  relate  them  one  to  another,  —  trying  especially 
to  connect  them  with  the  girl,  who  seemed  infinitely 
better  than  them  all.  And  in  the  hours  he  spent  at 
the  Masons'  cottage  or  out  on  the  sea  with  this  young 
woman,  who  had  seen  her  little  world  pretty  thoroughly, 
he  learned  more  than  the  years  at  the  university  would 
teach  him.  He  read  her  half  phrases  and  searched  her 
mobile  face  for  the  interpretation  of  what  he  saw  but 
could  not  understand  in  that  little  social  pool  of  rich 
Americans.  After  the  Mathers  left,  he  had  her  society 
when  he  sought  it.  His  absolute  admiration  and  un 
spoken  devotion  pleased  the  egotism  of  the  girl.  He 
was  but  a  boy,  she  may  have  said  to  herself.  But  a 
stronger  reason  for  her  freedom  with  him  was  that  they 


108  THE   KEAL   WORLD 

were  Americans,  equal  before  the  social  struggle,  with  a 
similar  homely  past,  with  similar  possibilities. 

Those  rare  autumn  days  !  In  some  clear,  sunlit  Olym 
pus  like  this  the  gods  must  sit  to  meditate  the  myste 
rious  joy  of  creation,  the  youth  thought,  and  he  was 
conscious  of  treading  in  their  footsteps.  Pain  and  per- 
plexity  later,  labor  and  strife  and  sullen  discontent, — 
they  must  return;  but  three,  five,  six  days  of  a  free  spirit 
unleashed,  with  the  dream  of  strange  events  to  come,  — 
who  would  not  stand  like  a  man  and  suffer  later  the 
pangs  of  disillusion  ?  The  boy  in  the  youth  was  ignorant 
of  the  woman's  cleverness;  the  man  in  him  cherished  her 
sweetest  qualities.  That  she  liked  him,  that  he  saw  her 
daily  for  long  hours,  —  was  that  not  matter  for  lasting 
gratitude  ? 

The  black  water  of  the  north  sea  laps  a  cold,  bleak 
shore.  The  firs,  rain-soaked,  shrouded  in  mist,  rise  stiff 
and  dark  above  the  black  rocks.  For  days,  sometimes 
weeks,  when  the  rest  of  the  world  basks  in  the  languid 
south  wind,  the  North  Shore  is  gloomy  and  fog-ridden. 
But  it  has  its  own  recompense  when  the  fog-banks  are 
driven  far  out  into  the  gray  sea,  when  the  tide  murmurs 
sweetly  against  the  little  islands,  when  the  clear  sun- 
mellowed  air  throws  an  enchantment  over  the  homely 
coast.  The  human  eye  has  the  feeling  that  it  can  see 
far  into  the  distance.  Remote  trees  and  rocks  stand  out 
with  the  sharp  relief  of  marble.  Then  an  intoxication 
possesses  the  blood,  not  the  carnal  bedevilment  of  drink 
or  drug,  but  a  quiet,  happy  conviction  that  the  spirit 
sees  and  feels.  The  incumbent  heavy  consciousness,  the 


THE   REAL   WORLD  109 

weary  weight  of  flesh  are  lifted :  one  breathes,  one  knows 
the  power  of  life ! 

The  afternoon  of  the  last  day  they  were  returning 
from  a  long  drive  over  the  hills  of  Green  Bay.  They 
had  risen  slowly  at  a  walk  out  of  a  spacious  inland 
plateau  of  waving,  many-colored  trees  and  lingered  on 
the  stony  crest  before  turning  down  the  steep  road  to 
the  shore.  Behind  them  in  the  murmuring  trees  the 
black  shadows  of  the  autumn  night  were  playing,  but  a 
few  last  golden  streaks  of  sunlight  illuminated  the 
dusky  islands  of  the  Bay.  The  still,  searching  beauty 
of  this  piece  of  the  world  shone  in  the  girl's  face, 
which  was  unwontedly  passive. 

"I  never  liked  the  neck  so  much  as  to-day!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"You  are  always  happy,"  Jack  commented  enviously. 

"  What's  the  use  of  sulking  ?  I  wouldn't  give  in, 
not  if  we  lost  every  cent.  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  poor 
and  to  be  snubbed.  Let  'em  all  talk  —  " 

She  restrained  herself,  but  Jack  knew  what  she  meant. 
He,  too,  was  outside  of  this  sleek  little  world  below  them. 

"  Shall  you  come  back  another  summer  ?  Shall  I  see 
you  ?  "  he  asked  rather  shamefacedly. 

"Perhaps  —  who  knows?     Frank  likes  it — " 

"  You're  the  first  real  person  I  ever  knew."  He  spoke 
to  himself.  She  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  ignorant  of 
the^bleak  spiritual  experience  that  the  boy  was  trying  to 
express. 

"  The  first  person  who  is  real  and  what  you  want  her 
to  be,"  he  stammered  on. 


110  THE   EEAL  WOULD 

She  took  it  as  a  bizarre  compliment,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  with  pleasure. 

"  Wait  — think  of  all  that's  coming ! » 

"Oh  yes,  crowds  of  people,"  he  agreed,  with  the  as 
sumption  of  youth,  "  but  not  this." 

She  suspected  sentiment  and  drew  off  bluffly. 

"  If  you  don't  forget,  come  to  see  me  in  New  York." 

"  No !  I'd  rather  do  something  first,  make  some  sort  of 
a  place,  so  those  people  —  every  one  won't  think  I  am  out 
of  it." 

"  Silly !     What  do  you  care  for  them  ?  " 

"  Nothing  here,  but  a  lot  when  they're  around." 

"  Why,  if  you  run  about  a  little  and  dress  like  them 
and  see  what  they're  doing,  you'll  be  just  like  them. 
And  then  I  shan't  care  a  fig  for  you." 

"  You  aren't  that  kind ! "  the  young  fellow  replied 
promptly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  kind  I  am  —  I'm  every  kind." 

"  You  don't  seem  happy  now,"  he  said  gently. 

"  Look  at  that  partridge !  You  could  have  hit  it  with 
a  stick.  There  goes  another,  and  another  ! " 

She  dropped  the  reins  in  her  excitement,  but  Jack 
paid  no  attention  to  the  covey  of  partridges  that  scuttled 
over  the  road. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  what's  the  matter,"  he  persisted. 

"You  wouldn't  understand,"  she  answered  peremp 
torily. 

Jack  turned  red  slowly,  painfully,  and  raised  his  deep 
brown  eyes  resentfully  to  the  girl's  face. 

"I   shouldn't  have   said   that,"  Elsie  added,  quickly 


THE  REAL  WORLD  111 

laying  her  hand  on  his;  "for  you  understand  almost 
everything,  and  are  the  greatest  dear  in  the  world." 

The  young  fellow  touched  the  horse  impatiently  with 
the  whip;  the  animal  sprang  forward  down  the  rocky 
road.  The  cart  rocked  and  swayed,  and  the  girl  had  all 
she  could  do  to  guide  it  around  the  sharp  turns  of  the 
wooded  road. 

"  Don't  do  that  again,"  she  said,  when  the  horse  settled 
into  a  fast  trot  over  a  level  piece  of  road. 

"  Don't  say  that  again,"  Jack  responded  haughtily. 

"No!  I  won't  ever  again  —  Jack,"  she  whispered 
teasingly,  her  head  swaying  close  to  his.  "  You  goose ! " 

And  he  raged,  like  the  youth  he  was,  at  the  feeling  of 
his  real  remoteness  from  this  woman.  When  they  came 
to  close  quarters  she  withdrew  into  a  cloudland  of  multi 
form  experience,  where  Bushy  and  Koger  Mather  and 
Miss  Chesney  and  many  others  were  at  home.  He 
merely  looked  over  the  fence. 

"You  must  come  to  see  me,"  she  repeated  soon,  nes 
tling  unconsciously  closer  to  him  in  the  eagerness  of  her 
sympathy.  "  You  will  ?  I'll  take  you  to  the  theatre 
and  show  you  the  great  ones  in  evening  undress.  I'll 
have  you  meet  the  tiniest  buds  in  the  world,  and  you'll 
fall  desperately  in  love,  and  it  will  be  quite  hopeless,  you 
know,  for  they  won't  look  at  you,  —  no  matter  how  clever 
you  are,  —  not  a  bud  of  this  generation,  —  less  than  fifty 
thousand  a  year.  And  it  will  take  you  years  and  years 
to—" 

"Will  fifty  thousand  satisfy  you  ?"  Jack  asked. 

She  paused  in  her  breathless  gabble  to  think. 


112  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"  If  he  is  the  right  sort,  —  good  style,  good  family,  — 
correct  in  all  points,  why  —  " 

"  Roger  Mather,  for  instance  ?  " 

"Don't  be  impertinent!  If  he  is  all  that,  I  might  try 
to  get  along  on  something  less,  but  for  the  ordinary  run  — 
fifty  is  the  very  least." 

Jack  looked  at  her  critically  to  see  whether  she  was 
serious. 

"And  I'm  not  worldly,  not  one  little  bit.  But  you 
don't  know  how  nasty  it's  been  —  not  having  money, 
being  snubbed,  and  skipping  about  from  hotel  to  hotel  — 
not  much ! "  She  ended  with  a  grimace. 

"But  I  thought  you  had.  money,"  Jack  persisted 
literally. 

"  Bather  more  than  Miss  Sadie,  or  Miss  Ruth." 

Jack  nettled,  and  she  added  more  seriously :  — 

"  Frank  takes  an  awful  lot,  and  —  " 

"I  didn't  know  people  had  to  have  so  much  money  to 
be  happy." 

"  You  don't  understand." 

"There  seems  to  be  a  lot  I  don't  understand,"  he 
growled. 

"  There  is,  just  dead  loads.  When  you  come  to  New 
York,  I'll  try  to  make  you  understand  a  little." 

"  Isn't  it  possible  this  is  better  ?  "  he  asked. 

Her  lip  trembled.  The  boy  had  touched  a  remote 
chord.  The  desire  for  peace  that  lies  beneath  the  mis 
cellaneous  impulses  of  a  healthy  nature  made  itself  felt 
for  one  moment. 

"Perhaps!"  she  admitted.     "No!     That's  just  plain 


THE   REAL    WORLD  113 

rot.  Good  for  failures  and  middle-aged  people  and  inva 
lids.  Don't  think  poetry,  Jack.  Remember,  to  enjoy 
poetry  you  must  know  the  other  kind  of  thing.  Will 
you  write  me,  too?"  She  changed  the  theme  briskly. 
"  I  like  you  clear  through,  and  I  don't  want  to  lose  sight 
of  you.  Maybe  I  can  help  you  some  day." 

"  And  I  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  do !  You  make  me  feel  just  right,  just  myself. 
Now  I'm  going  to  call  on  your  aunt,  while  you  drive 
over  to  the  store  for  the  mail." 

Jack  thanked  the  girl  with  a  glance,  and  helped  her 
to  dismount.  When  he  returned  with  the  mail  he  could 
see  her  eager  face  through  the  little  front  window  behind 
the  hollyhocks.  She  was  talking  in  the  same  absorbed, 
animated  fashion  that  he  loved.  He  waited  five,  ten, 
fifteen  minutes,  watching  her,  until  at  last  she  appeared, 
accompanied  by  the  heavy  form  of  his  aunt.  He  could 
see  that  Aunt  Julia  had  been  conquered  by  the  irresisti 
ble  human  charm  of  the  girl,  and  was  responding  in  her 
lumbering  way  to  the  sympathetic  touch. 

"  Hope  we're  agoin'  to  see  you  in  Pemberton  Neck  next 
season,"  Aunt  Julia  rolled  out  in  her  broad  tones,  as  she 
plucked  a  handful  of  flowers  from  the  garden  strip.  "  It's 
been  real  nice  to  watch  you  drivin'  past." 

"I  shan't  drive  past  next  year,"  the  girl  retorted 
swiftly. 

"  That's  right,"  Aunt  Julia  laughed.  "  Drive  right  up 
and  hitch  here." 

"  Good-by,  Jack,"  the  girl  said,  as  Jack  carefully 
covered  her  feet  with  the  robe.  She  stretched  out  her 


114  THE   REAL   WORLD 

hand,  and  as  her  fingers  closed  warmly  about  his  hand, 
the  young  fellow  answered :  — 

"  Good-by,  Elsie." 

"  See  you  soon,"  she  called  back  over  her  shoulder,  as 
the  cart  rolled  into  the  road. 

The  girl  swung  her  lash  lightly  above  the  mare  and 
called  to  her  cheerily  as  if  speaking  to  an  old  friend. 
The  mare  responded  with  a  long  stride,  and  the  last 
word  Jack  caught  was  the  cheerful,  "  Step  lively,  Molly," 
almost  drowned  in  the  rattle  of  the  wheels.  He  stood 
watching  until  the  erect  figure  disappeared  into  the  dark 
gulf  of  the  arching  trees. 

He  stood  on,  alone,  to  catch  the  last  echoes  of  the  trap. 
The  cold  autumn  night  had  shut  in,  hiding  the  islands 
in  the  Bay,  leaving  the  broad  stretches  of  inner  waters 
black  as  bottomless  pools.  In  the  frosty  stillness  of  the 
evening  the  slap  of  the  tidal  swells  resounded  sharply 
against  the  rocks.  Color  and  warmth  had  faded  from 
the  beautiful  land,  but  his  heart  held  a  warm  glow  that 
could  never  fade.  The  purest  devotion  a  man  ever  gives 
to  woman,  the  devotion  of  youth,  that  asks  nothing, 
hopes  for  nothing,  gives  all  and  gets  little,  filled  him 
with  happiness. 


CHAPTER   XI 

"  HAD  your  supper,  Jack?  "  His  uncle  stepped  quietly 
out  of  the  shadow  of  the  shed. 

"  No  !  "  the  boy  answered. 

"  Been  out  with  that  girl  up  to  the  Neck  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  shortly,  disliking  the  homely  directness 
of  his  uncle's  reference  to  Miss  Mason. 

"  Seen  a  good  deal  of  her  lately  ? "  the  little  man 
continued,  running  his  finger  under  his  suspenders  and 
stretching  his  slippered  feet  apart.  As  Jack  said  nothing, 
he  added :  "  And  there's  Ruth,  and  Sade,  and  maybe 
others  — just  like  your  father ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Jack  demanded  sternly. 

The  fisherman  spat  carefully  beyond  the  well-brushed 
gravel  path,  and  said  :  — 

"Time  you  knew,  Jack;  time  you  knew,  now  you're 
goin'  off  to  college  much  like  Arthur.  'Twas  the  gels 
that  ruined  him !  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin'  agin  wimen. 
When  the  time  comes,  you'll  want  to  marry  a  good  gel, 
and  maybe  Ruth's  good's  the  rest,  maybe  Sade.  But 
your  father  didn't  wait  till  the  right  time !  He  was  a 
great  hand  with  the  gels  at  the  church  parties.  There 
wan't  no  summer  folks  then,  so's  the  wimen  folk  were 
all  of  a  kind,  like  us.  And  I  kin  remember,"  he  con- 

115 


116  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

tinned,  spitting  again,  "  when  I  was  a  little  feller,  seein' 
Arthur  goin'  off  drivin'  with  the  gels,  and  berryin',  and 
choir  practice,  —  seems  he  was  allus  after  'em  —  " 

"  Well,  I  haven't  seen  much  of  them,  —  Sadie  or  Ruth 
or  the  rest,"  Jack  interrupted  in  cold  disgust,  "and  I 
don't  see  what  you're  telling  me  this  for." 

"  So's  to  warn  yer,  Jack,"  the  little  man  continued 
stubbornly.  "  There  was  never  a  brother  loved  a  brother 
more'n  I  loved  Arthur.  I'd  a  put  myself  in  that  there 
road,  and  let  him  drive  over  me,  but  I  seed  what  ruined 
him.  It  was  gels  —  wimen.  And  now  you're  doin' 
much  like  he  did.  He  went  off  up  to  Boston,  and  the 
next  thing  we  know'd  he  married  one  of  'em.  She  hooked 
him  'fore  he  knew  what  he  wanted,  and  she  cotched  him, 
'cause  why  ?  'Cause  she  thought  a  lot  of  herself ;  'cause 
she  put  on  airs;  'cause  her  folks  thought  themselves  fine 
—  like  this  one." 

Jack  squirmed  at  the  abrupt  application  of  the  moral. 

"  Now  I  don't  want  to  say  no  more  'bout  your  mother. 
But  leave  gels  alone  till  you're  a  man  ripe,  and  then  don't 
go  hangin'  bout  folks  that  are  too  fine  for  yer.  You're 
goin'  to  college  agin  my  advice,  and  you  kin  take  this 
advice  or  leave  it,  as  you  like." 

He  walked  away  to  the  barn,  his  natural  waddling  gait 
emphasized  by  the  passion  of  unusual  speech.  Jack 
stood,  stunned  by  the  savagery  of  the  words,  inclined  to 
resent  them.  It  seemed  as  if  a  dirty  rag  had  been  drawn 
carelessly  across  a  delicate  picture  in  his  mind.  All  the 
exquisite  outlines  with  which  his  imagination  had  painted 
this  one  woman  had  been  fouled.  And  his  memory  of 


THE   REAL   WORLD  117 

his  father  had  been  fouled,  too,  —  a  definite  cause  for 
that  pitiful  failure  suggested,  an  idea  that  would  lie  and 
fester  in  his  mind.  He  could  not  cease  to  wonder  how 
literally  the  words  should  be  taken,  to  what  extremities 
his  father's  weakness  had  led  him.  He  had  been  inno 
cent  of  wrong,  except  so  far  as  he  had  taken  joy  from 
this  beautiful  girl.  With  a  scowl  he  started  down  the 
path  toward  the  shore ;  his  aunt  put  her  head  out  of  the 
back  door,  and  called,  "  Jock,  Jock,  don't  you  want  no 
supper  ? " 

He  turned  back  and  went  to  his  supper  in  the  little 
kitchen.  As  he  said  nothing,  his  aunt  suggested  various 
topics. 

"  I  packed  your  trunk,  Jock." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  How  much  money  have  you  ?  " 

"  About  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

"Will  that  be  enough?" 

"Guess  it  will  have  to  be,  if  I  can't  get  some  more 
down  there." 

"  I've  quite  a  bit  saved  up,  one  way  and  another — " 

"  No,  Aunt  Julia,"  he  interrupted  quickly.  "  You  and 
Uncle  John  don't  believe  in  this  that  I'm  going  to  do, 
and  I  shouldn't  feel  right  in  taking  your  money." 

"Well,"  she  drawled  slowly,  "you  needn't  look  at  it 
that  way.  John  is  a  bit  uneasy  'count  of  your  father, 
but  I  guess  —  " 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  my  father  ? "  Jack  de 
manded  sharply. 

"  I  doan't  know  as  there  was  much,"  Aunt  Julia  replied 


118  THE   REAL  WORLD 

gently.  "He  was  kind  of  sweet  on  the  gurls,  and  I 
guess,  as  you  know,  his  marryin'  —  " 

"  Did  he  ever  do  any  girl  any  harm  ? "  Jack  asked, 
putting  down  his  knife  and  fork. 

"  I  doan't  know.  Your  cousin  Cyrus'  folks  talk  about 
some  girl,  a  Maxwell,  over  at  Brooksville,  —  but  'tain't 
nothin'  but  talk.  I  shouldn't  let  that  fear  you.  Your 
poor  father,  God  rest  him,  had  enough  trouble  'fore  he 
died.  He  was  kind  of  lively  and  gay  and  loved  com 
pany — I  guess  that  was  just  all.  There  was  your  great- 
uncle  Ferdinand  —  he  by  all  accounts  was  a  hard  one." 

Jack  made  her  tell  the  village  stories  about  the  ad 
venturous  Ferdinand,  who  had  attempted  to  keep  two 
establishments,  and  had  come  to  grief.  That  led  to  other 
tales  of  Pembertons,  a  web  of  provincial  intrigue  that 
connected  the  different  generations  of  Puritan  licentious 
ness,  —  repressed  decently,  but  ever  reappearing,  aveng 
ing  the  asceticism  of  one  generation  by  the  overstrung 
nerves  of  the  second.  The  young  fellow  sat  before  his 
food,  but  did  not  eat.  He  leaned  his  elbows  on  the 
kitchen  table  and  loosened  the  coarse  flannel  shirt  to 
give  his  neck  freedom,  and  stared  out  of  the  little  win 
dow  into  the  dark  fields.  His  black  hair  grew  thickly 
down  the  nape  of  his  neck  and  around  his  neck  to  the 
breast.  His  arms  had  thickened  and  toughened  like 
northern  saplings,  and  bronzed  under  the  sun.  The 
youth's  form  was  swelling  into  the  man's  mould,  and 
the  leaping  red  blood  pushed  and  tingled  over  the  body, 
filling  him  with  the  vital  consciousness  of  life.  His  face 
burned  red,  as  he  listened,  and  of  the  broken  threads 


THE  REAL   WORLD  119 

of  old  stories  lie  pieced  out  life-histories,  tragedies  of 
family .  .  . 

From  out  these  stony,  barren  fields  sprang  this  people 
of  his,  hard  and  rough  like  the  ledges  of  their  coast,  but 
with  this  strange  incentive  to  animal  indulgence.  In  the 
heat  of  his  fancy  he  saw  them  all,  —  all  his  people, — 
soft,  sensual,  yielding,  —  some  few  repressing  their  sen 
suality,  only  to  have  it  descend  a  greater  burden  of 
flesh  to  their  children. 

He  knew  now  the  thrill,  the  temptation  that  had  come 
unknown,  the  moonlight  night  when  he  had  sat  with  his 
arm  half  clasping  the  little  waitress.  And  his  aunt  and 
uncle  put  down  his  joy  in  Miss  Mason  to  the  same  cor 
rupt  root.  He  drew  himself  up  from  the  table  with  a 
gesture  of  powerful,  deep  disdain,  as  if  he  would  take 
this  vision  of  kindly  beauty  and  bear  it  away  to  some 
inner  sanctuary  where  the  ignorant  could  not  blow 
upon  it. 

"  That  Mis'  Mason,"  his  aunt  observed  at  last,  con 
scious  of  his  tense  expression  and  anxious  to  get  his 
thoughts  into  pleasanter  channels, —  "that  Mis'  Mason 
is  a  most  amusin'  child,  and  as  nice  a  one  as  I  ever  saw." 

"Don't  speak  about  her,"  Jack  ordered  harshly.  "I 
shall  never  see  her  again." 

His  aunt  stared  in  amazement  at  the  unaccustomed 
anger  in  his  tone,  but  like  the  wise  woman  of  the  people 
that  she  was  kept  her  peace  in  ignorance. 


BOOK    II 
YOUTH 


CHAPTER  I 

"!T'S  no  kind  of  a  mix-up.  I've  seen  a  dozen  boys 
just  in  from  the  plains  that  could  run  the  whole  push 
into  the  lock-up.  Now  it's  beginning  to  rain,  they'll  all 
go  home  and  change  their  neckties." 

Jack  laughed  at  the  whimsical  growling  of  the  fellow. 
He  had  strolled  over  to  the  "yard"  from  his  room  to 
see  the  antics  of  "  bloody  Monday  night,"  and  had  been 
disgusted,  as  was  this  brawny  stranger,  by  the  half-hearted, 
feeble  endeavors  of  a  few  freshmen  and  sophomores  to 
observe  an  old  tradition  of  the  place.  The  big  stranger, 
who  had  spoken  to  him  from  the  necessity  to  free  his 
mind  frankly  to  some  one,  continued :  — 

"  Here,  I've  lost  a  new  hat  and  had  my  collar-button 
torn  out,  —  the  worst  I  could  do.  I  guess  the  old  man's 
drool  this  morning  took  the  ginger  out  of  'em.  But  if 
they're  going  to  be  good  and  not  act  like  naughty  boys, 
why  don't  they  keep  out ;  and  if  they're  not  going  to  be 
grown-up  and  dignified  as  the  Prex  told  'em  to,  why  don't 
they  pitch  in  and  hustle  ?  " 

'( Are  you  new  here  ?  "     Jack  asked. 

"  Yes.  First  time  I  ever  smelled  salt  water.  And  it's 
given  me  a  cold  in  my  head.  There's  no  use  slopping 
'round  here  in  the  wet.  Let's  move  on." 

The  feeble  mob  of  undergraduates  that  had  been 
pushing  aimlessly  here  and  there  was  breaking  up  dis- 

123 


124  THE  KEAL  WOULD 

heartened.  Jack  sauntered  off  with,  his  new  acquaint 
ance,  immensely  pleased  to  hear  the  sound  of  a  human 
voice  addressed  to  him  after  five  days  of  complete  lone 
liness. 

"  Come  up  to  my  room,  won't  you  ? "  he  suggested 
timidly,  as  the  rain  pattered  insistently  among  the 
autumn  leaves  of  the  old  elms. 

"  Whereabouts  ?  "  the  stranger  demanded. 

u  College  House,  top  floor,"  Jack  responded,  as  yet 
unconscious  of  the  social  inadequacy  of  his  quarters. 

The  two  scrambled  up  the  dingy  stairs  of  the  old 
brick  hall ;  Jack  opened  the  door  of  his  tiny  room, 
turned  up  the  gas,  and  wheeled  eagerly  to  look  at  his 
companion. 

"  Stevenson,  —  Jeff  Stevenson,"  the  big  fellow  ex 
plained,  falling  into  a  chair  and  stretching  out  his  hands 
to  the  little  grate  fire.  "  And  you're  Pemberton,  18  — , 
saw  it  on  the  door  while  you  were  hunting  for  a  match. 
I'm  from  Mound  City,  Iowa.  Where  are  you  from  ?  " 

"  Pemberton  Neck,  Maine,"  Jack  responded. 

"  So  ?  Got  a  place  named  for  you?  Well,  they  named 
a  little  two-story  shanty,  saloon,  and  stock-house  up  in 
the  woods,  Stevenson,  after  the  old  man ;  but  it  hasn't 
grown  much,  —  guess  it  never  will." 

Stevenson  had  a  pleasant,  big  voice,  all  in  the  lower 
register.  It  reminded  Jack  of  the  bellow  of  the  waves 
on  the  rocks  of  Seal  Island  as  it  came  to  land  softened 
by  the  fog  bank.  His  large,  bony  frame  fitted  the  voice 
and  also  his  huge  feet,  two  of  which,  side  by  side,  occu 
pied  the  hearth,  and  his  long,  broad,  hairy  hands.  A 


THE   KEAL   WORLD  125 

thick  growth  of  hair  came  far  down  on  his  forehead, 
and  was  met  over  the  cheek  bones  by  two  wide,  black 
streaks  where  the  beard  was  shaved.  A  mustache  curved 
above  the  large  mouth.  The  chief  thing  about  the  man 
—  he  was  obviously  older  than  the  average  freshman  — 
was  the  liberal  scale  of  his  physique.  It  was  not  until 
Jack  stood  off  from  him  that  he  realized  how  handsome 
he  was  in  spite  of  the  heavy  lines.  His  big,  brown  eyes 
peering  out  under  the  thatch  of  hair  burned  with  kindly 
warmth. 

"  What  are  you  doing  for  yourself  ?  "  Stevenson  asked 
slowly.  "  I've  been  running  'round  to  see  the  profs,  but 
they  seem  too  busy  to  pass  the  time  of  day.  Every 
one  hereabouts  is  just  wiggling  for  all  he's  worth ;  so  I 
gave  it  up,  and  just  trot  here  and  there  and  look  at 
things.  Been  to  Concord  and  Bunker  Hill.  It's  mighty 
different  around  here." 

"What's  Mound  City  ? "  Jack  asked,  immensely  inter 
ested  in  this  careless,  casual  person. 

"Oh!  just  a  crossroads  where  the  road  headquarters 
are,  and  the  shops,  and  all  that.  It's  goin'  to  be  the 
prettiest  town  of  its  size  in  the  state.  Ever  been 
West?" 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  You  should  see  a  Bed  Eiver  Valley  farm  —  my  old 
man  owns  two  or  three  big  ones,  and  I've  been  up  there 
harvestin'  times.  Why,  on  one  of  them  we  keep  five 
experts  just  riding  about  fixing  the  machines." 

The  big  fellow  lounged  back  in  the  chair  and  closed 
his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  dreaming  of  the  level  golden 


126  THE   REAL   WORLD 

plains  with  the  music  of  the  reapers  in  his  ears.  He 
talked  on ;  from  anybody  else  Jack  would  have  called  it 
brag,  but  from  Stevenson  it  was  only  the  egotistic  over 
flow  of  a  powerful,  zestful  nature. 

"  When  the  boys  went  to  school,  —  Michigan,  Cornell, 
Kansas,  and  so  on,  —  I  went  into  railroadin',"  he  ended. 
"  Only  last  year  the  old  man  fixed  his  business  up  so  as 
I  could  be  free.  And  I  thought  I'd  see  what  it  was  like 
here.  I  read  a  good  deal  in  the  papers  about  Harvard, 
and  when  I  had  a  chance  to  choose  I  took  Harvard." 

Jack's  own  tale  seemed  tame  to  him  in  comparison 
with  the  hard-working  years  that  Stevenson  had  spent 
on  the  wheat  farm  and  in  the  railroad  offices  of  Mound 
City.  The  black-browed  Westerner  with  his  massive, 
gentle  face  had  already  tasted  many  of  the  joys  of  a 
man's  life. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  Stevenson  asked 
abruptly. 

"  I  don't  know.  There  are  so  many  things  in  this 
place  to  study,  I  don't  even  know  where  to  begin." 

"  I  went  through  their  prospectus  with  the  old  man, 
and  we  picked  out  about  a  couple  of  dozen  courses.  I'm 
down  for  six  this  year.  What's  your  line  ?  " 

"Nothing  particular,"  Jack  replied  evasively.  "Lan 
guages,  I  guess,  at  first.  I  expect  to  waste  a  year 
finding  out  what  I  want.  I  didn't  come  just  for  the 
courses." 

The  big  fellow  looked  puzzled,  and  Jack  was  too 
timid  to  explain  what  he  meant.  They  talked  on  into 
the  quiet  hours  of  the  rainy  night,  like  two  imaginative 


THE  REAL  WORLD  127 

boys,  sounding  each  other,  discovering  the  capes  of  dis 
similar  experience,  laying  the  broad  foundations  of 
friendship.  Stevenson  took  off  his  coat  and  collar  and 
rolled  up  his  shirt  sleeves  to  cool  his  big  body.  He 
talked  like  a  massive  engine  that  had  its  business  in  the 
world  to  do,  and  played  in  the  joyous  heat  of  its  per 
formance. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I'd  bunk  in  with  you  right 
here,  but  your'quarters  are  kind  of  small."  It  was  not 
said  in  criticism,  and  Jack  offered  no  apology.  In  truth, 
there  was  only  a  narrow  iron  bed  shut  off  in  a  corner  by 
a  calico  curtain,  a  table,  two  chairs,  and  a  strip  of  carpet. 
"  I  live  over  the  other  end  of  the  town.  Where  do  you 
feed  ?  At  the  great  trough  in  the  Hall  ?  Well,  I'll  see 
you  there  to-morrow,  and  we'll  try  to  fix  it  so's  to  get 
together  at  table,  —  if  agreeable  to  you." 

When  he  had  gone,  and  his  heavy  tread  sounded  loudly 
from  the  old  staircase,  which  he  covered  three  steps  at  a 
time,  Jack  Pemberton  walked  back  and  forth  as  if  to 
shake  himself  awake.  The  vital,  physical  presence  of 
the  young  man  still  remained  in  the  room,  and  stirred 
him  like  a  hearty  clap  on  the  shoulder.  He  opened  the 
window  and  looked  out.  Stevenson  was  pulling  up  his 
coat  collar  and  ramming  the  felt  hat  Jack  had  lent 
him  firmly  on  his  head.  Then  he  started  up  the  avenue 
out  of  the  square,  walking  leisurely  as  if  a  Cambridge 
drizzle  had  no  terrors.  Jack  watched  him  until  his 
broad  shoulders  faded  into  the  damp  night. 

He  stood  there  by  the  window,  gazing  into  the  deserted 
square,  where  the  big  electric  light  cast  a  blue  blur  over 


128  THE   REAL   WORLD 

the  wet  roadway.  The  streets  were  muddy,  and  the  col 
lege  buildings  across  the  way  were  shrouded  in  the  cold 
mist,  yet  for  the  first  day  since  his  arrival  in  Cambridge 
the  place  painted  itself  large  in  his  imagination.  It  was 
like  coming  across  the  form  of  a  young  god  in  a  new 
country  —  this  finding  of  Stevenson. 

The  next  morning  the  sky  was  washed  cold  and  blue ; 
there  was  a  feeling  of  distant,  frosty  hills  in  the  air.  The 
beautiful  New  England  autumn  had  set  in.'  Jack  hurried 
over  to  the  dining  hall,  the  first  love  for  the  old  place 
stirring  in  his  heart.  He  had  been  assigned  a  seat  in 
that  vast  establishment  with  a  number  of  other  nonde 
script  youths  that  had  as  yet  no  companions.  In  the 
bustle  of  the  great  hall,  with  the  steam  of  the  food  cloud 
ing  the  big  stained-glass  windows,  the  perpetual  stream 
of  students  in  and  out,  the  tables  loaded  with  used  dishes, 
Jack  sat  and  watched  the  scene.  The  youth  next  him,  a 
pale,  near-sighted  chap,  who  ate  as  if  all  food  were  the 
same  thing,  had  propped  his  morning  paper  on  the  water- 
pitcher  and  buried  himself  unsociably  in  its  folds.  Jack 
looked  him  over,  trying  to  place  him.  He  was  more  of 
the  student  than  any  man  he  had  yet  seen;  he  was 
dressed  with  the  greatest  economy,  evidently,  his  black, 
ready-made  clothes  having  been  brushed  until  they 
shone. 

As  the  stranger  turned  the  newspaper,  Jack  noticed 
that  he  stopped  the  mechanical  process  of  shovelling  in 
his  breakfast  and  stared  at  the  lines  of  print  in  front  of 
him.  He  did  not  seem  to  read;  he  did  not  turn  the 
newspaper,  to  the  discomfort  of  Jack,  who  was  furtively 


THE  REAL   WORLD  129 

gathering  the  news  of  a  great  yacht  race.  Finally,  Jack 
rose  and  left  his  neighbor  staring  with  unseeing  eyes  at 
the  heavy  black  lines  of  the  Herald.  As  he  sauntered 
out  of  the  smelly  hall  into  the  marble-paved  transept,  the 
October  sunlight  shot  through  the  open  doors,  lighting 
the  memorial  tablets.  Jack  stopped  and  read  the  names, 
passing  on  from  tablet  to  tablet  with  its  simple  record 
of  forgotten  heroes.  This  contribution  of  the  university 
to  the  national  life  suddenly  meant  something  to  him : 
Antietam,  Chancellorsville,  the  Wilderness,  —  odd  names, 
crude  names,  beautiful  names,  —  more  penetrating  than 
Marathon,  or  Philippi,  or  Agincourt!  The  names  of 
the  men  were  recorded  in  little  black  letters  that  sank 
coldly  into  the  angular  marble  tablets:  — 

John  Errant. 
Andrew  Nixon. 
Benjamin  F.  Pauling. 
Another  tablet :  — 

Amos  DuranL 

Edward  Sewall  Mather,  Captain. 

That  must  be  a  relative  of  his  classmate,  young  Mather ! 
The  last  time  he  had  seen  Ned  Mather  he  was  superin 
tending  the  loading  of  his  polo  ponies  on  the  Northern 
Star  at  the  Neck.  Jack  wondered  if  Mather  had  ever 
stood  beneath  this  record  of  honor.  Thirty  years  before 
almost  to  the  day  of  the  month,  Captain  Edward  Sewall 
Mather,  who  was  then  barely  twenty,  had  left  Harvard 
with  his  regiment,  and  two  years  later  was  shot  at  Gettys- 


130  THE  REAL   WORLD 

burg.  Jack  passed  on,  reading  the  names,  many  of  which 
were  familiar  and  honored  throughout  New  England. 

A  broad  streak  of  violet  light  waved  across  the  marble 
floor.  The  students  came  thickly  now,  hurrying  to  their 
morning  classes  or  sauntering  to  a  belated  breakfast. 
These  men,  he  supposed,  were  much  the  same  as  those  of 
the  preceding  generation,  whose  names  alone  were  left 
in  this  unlovely  hall  of  fame.  The  freshman  stand 
ing  there  in  his  loneliness  and  bewilderment  and  igno 
rance  of  what  to  do  with  his  life,  reproached  his  age 
for  denying  him  the  opportunities  it  had  given  to 
these.  The  crude  impatience  of  youth  saw  only  their 
heroism ! 

One  of  the  figures  that  came  through  the  swinging 
doors  of  the  dining  hall  moved  over  the  flags  with  the 
dragging  step  of  a  somnambulist.  It  was  the  fellow  who 
had  sat  next  Jack  at  breakfast.  He  carried  the  Herald 
open  in  his  hand,  but  his  eyes  stared  above  the  page  into 
an  empty  distance.  Jack  followed  him,  fascinated  by  the 
man's  preoccupation.  The  young  student  with  the  paper 
turned  mechanically  up  the  street  in  the  direction  of  the 
square.  As  he  crossed  the  path  that  led  to  the  big  reci 
tation  hall,  he  paused  for  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  sought 
the  paper  once  more.  Then  he  crawled  on. 

The  bell  had  ceased  ringing.  Jack  had  a  nine  o'clock 
lecture  at  Sever  Hall,  but  he  followed  the  fellow  with 
the  paper.  Some  impulse  overbore  the  careful  restraint, 
the  habit  of  not  speaking,  which  Cambridge  so  quickly 
teaches;  perhaps  it  was  Stevenson's  burly  example. 
He  touched  the  quiet  little  man  on  his  shoulder. 


THE   KEAL   WORLD  131 

"  The  bell  has  just  stopped,"  he  said  foolishly.  "  Are 
you  going  to  English  A  ?  " 

The  man  shrank  away  from  the  touch  suspiciously, 
and  then  gave  a  little  wizened  laugh. 

"  I  was  going  somewhere,  but  I  guess  I'm  not,  —  ever 
going  anywhere  again." 

"  What's  up  ?  "  Jack  asked,  with  more  assurance. 

The  little  man  looked  away. 

"Oh,  nothing!"  But  his  hand  trembled  until  the 
newspaper  fluttered. 

"  Something  in  the  paper  ?  "  Jack  asked  persistently. 

The  stranger  shoved  the  paper  under  his  nose.  There 
were  the  headlines  about  the  yacht  race,  and  side  by  side 
a  little  six-line  item  about  an  embezzlement  from  a  coun 
try  bank.  Jack  wondered  if  the  fellow  had  put  all  his 
money  on  the  wrong  boat,  but  he  rejected  the  idea;  the 
pale,  near-sighted  fellow  was  not  that  kind. 

"  The  Chicopee  Bank,"  the  stranger  laughed.  "  Said 
to  be  as  strong  as  a  safe.  Had  all  my  money,  —  and 
now  that  fellow's  got  it  all." 

"  That's  tough,"  Jack  said  sympathetically. 

"I  guess  you'd  say  so,"  the  little  man  retorted  irritably. 
"  If  you'd  saved  it  for  five  years,  working  by  the  hour." 

Jack  said  nothing,  but  walked  along,  forgetful  of  his 
English  recitation. 

"For  two  years  I've  been  proof-reading  over  in  the 
big  printing  house  by  the  river,  and  from  the  window 
by  my  desk  I  have  seen  nothing  but  that  tower." 

He  turned  and  pointed  to  the  massive,  ugly,  slate- 
covered  tower  of  Memorial  Hall. 


132  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"  Is  it  all  gone  ?  "  Jack  ventured  to  ask. 

"  I've  ten  dollars/'  the  fellow  answered,  "  somewhere, 
if  that  hasn't  been  stolen,  too." 

They  were  in  the  Yard,  now,  and  the  stranger  looked 
about  at  the  homely  old  brick  buildings  with  a  wistful 
air. 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  seen  it  near  to,  and  been  a  student, 
if  only  for  two  days.  I  said  I  wouldn't  come  over  until 
I  had  the  money  in  the  bank  and  could  be  a  member. 
Well,  I  must  go  back  to  Boston." 

But  he  lingered,  evidently  loath  to  shut  himself  up 
with  his  stunning  disappointment. 

"  You  aren't  going  to  give  in  ?  "  Jack  exclaimed. 

The  little  man  laughed  drearily ;  words  were  cheap. 

"  Come  over  with  me,  I've  got  a  room ;  it  isn't  much, 
but  it's  paid  for.  And  they  say  a  fellow  who  is  smart 
can  always  get  on.  Perhaps  the  bank  will  pay  up 
sometime." 

The  little  man  shook  his  head  incredulously.  But 
Jack  persisted.  Here  was  a  fellow  who  wanted  the 
courses,  who  knew  what  he  wanted  far  more  than  he 
did,  who  had  struggled  for  it,  fought  for  five  years !  It 
was  preposterous  that  he  should  be  cheated  out  of  it. 
So  he  persuaded  Black — Eaymond  Black  was  the 
stranger's  name  —  to  come  up  to  his  room  to  talk  it 
over,  and  to  canvass  the  question  of  ways  and  means. 
He  succeeded  in  having  Black  put  off  his  flight  for  that 
day,  and  then  he  went  to  his  eleven  o'clock  recitation, 
hoping  to  run  across  Stevenson.  The  big  Westerner,  he 
thought,  might  be  helpful. 


THE  REAL  WORLD  133 

His  mind  was  busy  with  this  idea,  and  he  paid  little 
attention  to  the  lecture,  —  a  talk  on  methods  of  study 
ing  history,  delivered  to  a  class  of  four  hundred  boys, 
a  third  of  whom  could  catch  the  words  of  the  lecturer 
only  occasionally.  At  the  sound  of  the  bell  the  pent-up 
youth  tumbled  gayly  out  of  the  stuffy  hall.  Some  hurried 
over  to  the  library  to  secure  the  books  mentioned  by  the 
lecturer;  others  straggled  to  other  lectures;  but  the 
larger  part  drifted  through  the  Square  into  the  little  cross 
streets  where  are  the  private  clubs  and  the  luxurious 
private  dormitories.  Jack  noticed  that  these  students 
were  the  better  dressed,  more  distinctively  "college  boys," 
such  as  he  had  seen  in  the  hotel,  and  he  strolled  along 
with  them,  observing  their  ease  of  manner  with  one 
another  and  their  dress.  They  clustered  like  flies  about 
the  billiard  rooms  and  cigar  shops  on  Massachusetts 
Avenue.  He  met  Mason,  and  stopped  to  greet  him. 
Frank  Mason  called  out  with  a  show  of  cordiality, 
"Hello,  Pemberton,"  and  asked  him  how  he  was  "get 
ting  on."  As  the  two  talked,  Mason's  eyes  wandered 
up  and  down  the  street.  And  from  moment  to  moment 
he  nodded  to  passing  fellows,  with  the  same  genial  smile, 
—  "Hello,  Ned;  Hello,  Prentiss;  Hello,  Tom."  He 
seemed  to  know  the  world  by  the  first  name. 

Jack  lingered,  without  anything  to  say,  merely  from 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  Elsie's  brother.  In  a  few  moments 
Mason  smiled  again  and  moved  on,  saying,  "Come  in 
some  time  when  you  are  going  by;  Claverly  is  my 
building."  He  evidently  meant  to  be  nice  to  Pemberton. 
But  a  man's  acquaintance  was  like  a  well-packed  bag ;  it 


134  THE  REAL  WORLD 

was  boring  to  be  asked  to  add  a  superfluous  article. 
Jack  thought  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  he  should 
be  passing  Claverly  way. 

As  he  turned  back  to  the  less  fashionable  quarter  of 
the  Square,  he  caught  sight  of  Stevenson's  big  form  in 
front  of  a  popular  cigar  shop.  He  was  looking  at  some 
prize  cups  exhibited  in  the  window,  and  as  Jack  hailed 
him  he  exclaimed,  carrying  on  the  thought  that  was  in 
his  mind :  — 

"  Athletics's  the  thing  here  —  you  want  to  get  out  and 
hustle.  I'm  going  over  to  the  big  ranch  beyond  the 
creek,  and  try  my  luck  with  the  padded  breeches.  Come 
on,  young  feller." 

"You'll  never  make  the  team,"  Jack  replied  pessi 
mistically.  "  It's  always  made  up  beforehand  from  the 
men  who  have  been  on  school  teams.  You  aren't  in 
the  set." 

Mason  had  given  him  a  sour  feeling  that  extended 
to  every  suggestion.  He  even  doubted  whether  Black 
could  be  helped. 

"  That's  all  right,"  Stevenson  answered  good-naturedly. 
"  They  haven't  seen  me  yet.  I  could  push  a  flat-car  up 
grade  this  morning." 

"  Well,  I  want  your  advice,"  Jack  said  more  hopefully. 
He  told  Stevenson  about  the  man  he  had  met  at  Memo 
rial.  Stevenson  took  the  little  tragedy  as  a  good  joke, 
remarking :  "  So  the  cashier  skipped  with  every  cent,  and 
the  little  fellow  is  landed  here  strapped  ?  Why  don't  he 
get  a  gun  and  start  for  his  man  ?  " 

"If  you  saw  Black,  you'd  know  why.     Besides,  we 

K 


THE   REAL   WORLD  135 

don't  settle  those  matters  so  simply  here,"  Jack 
observed. 

When  the  big  man  had  time  to  let  all  sides  of  the 
affair  penetrate  his  mind,  he  sobered  enough. 

"He  mustn't  get  out  —  give  up  like  that  when  the 
game  is  going  the  wrong  way.  Just  let  him  show  his 
nerve  and  stay  in.  The  bank  will  pay  up  some  day,  or 
something'll  happen.  Let's  have  a  look  at  him ! " 

In  the  end  Stevenson  put  heart  into  the  little  man,  and 
Jack  got  Mather's  tutor  to  promise  to  send  him  a  job. 
Meantime  Stevenson  lent  him  some  money  to  go  on 
with. 

"He  wants  college  more  than  I  do,"  Stevenson  re 
marked  —  "  more'n  most,  and  we'll  see  he  gets  it,  won't 
we?" 

Jack  assented,  with  a  grim  sense  of  humor.  His  own 
affairs,  he  began  to  realize,  were  not  in  the  brightest 
case,  but  he  assimilated  something  of  the  big  man's 
broad  trust  in  the  future,  and  looked  ahead  with 
a  steady  glance.  About  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to 
order  a  suit  of  clothes  from  one  of  the  Boston  tailors 
that  advertised  in  the  college  papers.  The  price  of  his 
suit  cut  deeply  into  his  small  hoard,  but  he  said  imper- 
turbably  to  little  Black,  who  gasped  at  his  recklessness :  — 

"  I  hate  slops,  and  I've  always  had  slops  to  wear.  I'm 
going  to  run  on  a  different  gauge  here,  as  Stevenson 
would  call  it." 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  what  is  so  deeply  symbolical 
to  the  ambitious  American  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  memory  of  the  tablets  in  Memorial  Hall  recurred 
from  time  to  time  that  first  year.  He  wondered  what 
Ned  Mather  was  doing  with  himself  at  Harvard.  He 
had  seen  him  occasionally  driving  up  Massachusetts 
Avenue,  but  he  had  not  met  him.  In  the  intolerable 
loneliness  of  the  first  months  he  had  thought  of  calling 
on  him,  but  his  pride,  which  had  grown  vastly  in  the 
college  atmosphere,  prevented  him.  He  made  few  ac 
quaintances  ;  sometimes  he  envied  little  Black,  who  had 
unerringly  formed  relations  with  a  few  "grinds,"  —  ac 
quaintances  made  in  the  class  room,  at  the  library,  or 
over  borrowed  note-books.  For  Black  there  seemed  to  be 
but  one  road  in  life,  while  he  stood  confused  in  the 
market-place.  Stevenson,  also,  pushed  his  burly  form 
here  and  there,  attracting  acquaintances  easily,  with  a 
large  trust  in  the  future.  As  for  Mason  and  Mather  and 
the  idle  men  of  their  set,  he  supposed  they  were  confi 
dent  that  the  future  would  settle  itself,  as  it  had  for 
their  fathers  and  their  older  brothers,  —  advantageously. 

Meantime,  as  the  year  wore  on,  a  more  pressing  anxiety 
occupied  his  thoughts:  his  little  hoard  was  giving  out 
very  fast.  The  day  came  when  he  was  ready  to  acknowl 
edge  his  defeat  and  to  return  to  Pemberton  Neck  quite 
penniless,  but  accidentally  that  evening  he  found  a  way  to 

136 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  137 

earn  some  money.  By  the  close  of  the  year  he  could 
make  nearly  fifteen  dollars  a  week  by  writing  for  a 
Boston  newspaper.  The  chance  had  come  to  him 
through  Zimmerman,  a  young  instructor  in  English,  who 
had  read  something  of  the  boy's  story  between  the  lines 
of  his  theme-work.  That  cape  of  distress  rounded,  Jack 
gained  a  certain  confidence.  It  was  a  good  thing  early 
in  life  to  walk  up  close  to  failure  and  look  it  in  the  face. 

Harvard  was  a  silent  world  for  him.  Beyond  Stevenson, 
Black,  and  a  rare  word  with  Zimmerman  or  some  other 
busy  instructor,  Jack  had  no  occasion  to  use  his  tongue. 
The  place  began  to  have  the  aspect  of  a  city  of  animated 
shades,  who  hourly  walked  up  and  down  on  the  brick 
pavements,  and  talked  and  whistled  and  sang  and  then 
reentered  their  respective  abodes  until  the  old  bell  rang 
again.  He  did  not  dislike  this  isolation,  for  all  his 
conscious  life  he  had  lived  so  largely  with  shades  that 
he  had  grown  accustomed  to  silence.  Now  and  then  he 
went  to  the  theatre  with  Stevenson,  who  had  a  passion 
for  the  play.  After  the  heat  and  bad  air  of  the  upper 
gallery  they  were  glad  to  walk  out  over  the  long  bridge 
to  Cambridge,  discussing,  venting  the  keen  impressions 
of  the  evening.  Jack  had  the  shy  desire  to  write  a 
play,  — about  wraiths,  —  and  Stevenson's  ambition  was  to 
know  the  author  of  the  Private  Detective,  or  the  actress 
of  the  hour. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  they  had  run  across  Ned 
Mather  rather  drunk  and  in  dispute  with  some  men  who 
were  trying  to  get  his  money.  Stevenson  had  put  the 
men  to  flight,  and  then  they  had  got  Mather  to  Cambridge 


138  THE   REAL   WOULD 

in  a  cab.  As  they  were  leaving  him  at  his  rooms,  he 
urged  them  to  come  in  and  spend  the  night  with  him. 

"  I  can't  sleep,"  he  explained,  with  polite  coherence, 
"  and  if  you  wouldn't  mind  —  I  hate  to  be  alone.  We'll 
have  something  cool  upstairs,  and  just  talk,  until  that 
fool  Mason  turns  up." 

Stevenson  declined  and  went  away.  While  Jack  hesi 
tated,  disliking  a  drunken  cordiality,  the  young  fellow 
pulled  his  arm. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Pemberton,  don't  leave  me  !  These 
times  I  can't  stand  being  alone.  I'd,  I'd  go  back  to  town." 

There  was  something  appealing  in  the  gentle,  regular 
features  of  the  boy,  a  wistfuluess  that  attracted  Jack  even 
more  than  the  fine  courtesy  and  amusing  irony  he  had 
displayed  on  the  drive  from  town.  So  Jack  steadied 
Mather's  footsteps  in  the  dark  hall,  and  got  him  into  a 
chair  near  the  window,  where  the  soft  April  breeze  puffed 
out  the  heavy  curtains.  Mather  leaned  his  head  wearily 
on  the  cushions  and  closed  his  eyes.  It  was  a  singularly 
handsome  and  impassive  face,  with  the  sad,  youthful 
expression  of  a  renaissance  portrait.  Lean  and  long  in 
feature,  heavy-lidded,  with  luxuriant  hair,  the  head  gave 
a  sense  of  repose,  of  a  wistful  inner  life  that  rarely 
expressed  itself  in  action. 

"  Nice  and  calm  out  there.  Nice  place  here  —  if  you 
hadn't  to  bother  with  things,"  Mather  murmured,  his 
eyes  still  closed. 

"  You  don't  very  much,"  Jack  suggested,  with  growing 
curiosity. 

For  reply  Mather  pointed  to  the  door,  which  was  care- 


THE   REAL   WORLD  139 

fully  decorated  with  little  oblong  cards,  —  "invitations 
from  the  Dean." 

"  Another  one,  and  I  shall  take  a  vacation,"  he  com 
mented,  with  a  sigh. 

"But  it's  easy  enough  to  keep  along  and  not  worry 
one's  self,"  Jack  remonstrated. 

"I  suppose  so  —  at  least  Roger  thinks  so,  and  the  gov 
ernor.  The  tutor  put  Roger  through,  but  he  hasn't  suc 
ceeded  with  me.  If  one  could  only  care  a  little  —  " 

He  hesitated  with  the  awkwardness  of  youth  in  con 
fession.  But  he  had  the  desire  to  talk.  The  fumes  of  the 
evening,  as  they  scattered,  left  his  mind  singularly  clear. 

"  My  people  have  always  been  here  ;  never  done  much, 
you  know.  But  the  governor  can't  imagine  our  not  get 
ting  the  degree.  I  shall  be  an  awful  shock  to  him.  / 
don't  want  the  degree.  As  soon  as  I  can  get  out  of  this, 
I'm  going  to  Carolina  or  Mexico  or  some  place,  and  start 
a  ranch.  The  only  thing  I  care  about  is  horses.  Then 
I'll  come  back  north  at  times  for  polo  and  a  little  run  in 
the  cities." 

"  You'd  get  sick  of  that  soon,"  Jack  observed  wisely. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  Not  much !  What's  the  use  of  liv 
ing  up  to  the  other  fellow's  ideal,  or  what  you  call  it  ? 
There's  my  uncle  —  " 

The  simple  tablet  in  Memorial  rose  before  Jack's  eyes, 
and  he  listened  eagerly. 

u  He  was  a  sport ;  only  instead  of  playing  polo  and  go 
ing  in  town,  he  went  to  the  war  and  got  shot.  Suppose 
I'd  do  the  same  thing  if  I  had  his  chance.  They  call  him 
a  hero,  and  I'm  a  plain  bum.  What's  the  difference  ?  " 


140  THE   REAL   WORLD 

The  idea  in  the  boy's  mind  was  more  or  less  logical,  and 
Jack  refrained  from  protesting. 

"  They  keep  me  out  here,  and  I  make  the  best  of  it,  kill 
time  when  I  can." 

He  fetched  some  apollinaris  from  a  sideboard,  and  con 
tinued  to  talk  desultorily,  revealing  his  methods  of  kill 
ing  time  with  literalness  and  humor.  He  did  not  care  for 
fame :  he  had  no  desire  to  distinguish  himself  in  athlet 
ics,  in  society,  in  the  larger  world  beyond  the  A.  B.  It 
was  all  a  matter  of  ennui.  But  the  fresh  air  of  the  moun 
tains,  the  rough  zest  of  the  great  plains,  the  simple  joys 
of  the  body,  —  with  these  he  could  be  content.  And  he 
was  "  not  a  bad  lot,"  as  he  himself  said.  Frank  Mason 
and  Eoger  ran  about  with  the  women  in  their  social  set,  — 
the  good  society  of  New  York  and  Boston, — and  a  naughty 
lot  of  girls  and  women  they  were,  according  to  this  youth. 
Their  weaknesses  and  follies  had  no  charms  for  him ;  he 
had  seen  them  grow  up.  "  If  I  want  that  kind  of  thing," 
he  observed,  "you  know  I  had  rather  take  it  straight. 
It's  no  good  making  the  world  all  nasty." 

The  narrowness  and  emptiness  of  life !  The  boy  un 
consciously  painted  the  futility  of  living.  That  was  the 
story  of  the  impassive,  sad  renaissance  face,  —  a  mask 
for  ennui.  He  had  inherited  what  Elsie  Mason  had  set 
forth  in  her  incisive  philosophy  of  life  as  the  desirable 
things  to  strive  for,  and  they  had  no  zest.  Yet,  as  he 
talked,  Jack  saw  that  after  all  the  young  generation  was 
close  to  the  one  that  had  tablets  raised  in  its  honor  in 
Memorial  Hall.  Let  there  come  to-night  a  call,  a  chance 
for  some  definite  excitement,  be  the  cause  good  or  bad, 


THE  REAL  WORLD  141 

and  Ned  Mather  and  his  kind  would  be  the  first  to  grasp 
the  sword.  The  run  of  men  are  simple  children,  and 
they  cannot  respond  to  the  abstract  needs  of  life :  they 
need  the  battle-cry  and  the  flag ! 

When  the  morning  light  came,  Mather  prepared  coffee, 
and  suggested  turning  in.  "  Another  warning  in  History 
12,"  he  yawned.  "  I  suppose  you  never  get  them  ?  "  he 
inquired  of  Jack  with  some  curiosity. 

"  I've  got  to  get  on,"  Jack  answered  bluntly.  "  It's  no 
virtue  in  me !  " 

"  Ah ! "  Mather  commented  politely.  "  Didn't  you  use 
to  live  near  us  at  Riverside  ?  My  sister  said  something 
about  it." 

"Yes.     I  lived  back  of  your  place,  —  Pancoast  Lane." 

"  Ah ! "  Mather  repeated  with  an  air  of  polite  specula 
tion,  as  if  their  respective  position  was  one  of  the  ironies 
of  life.  "  And  you  like  it  here  ?  " 

"Not  especially,"  Jack  replied.  "I,  too,  don't  know 
just  what  to  do." 

"That  wouldn't  bother  me  much,"  Mather  responded 
ironically,  "  if  the  good  people  here  would  only  let  me 
alone." 

After  that  night  the  two  saw  each  other  occasionally. 
Jack  induced  Mather  to  engage  the  services  of  Raymond 
Black  as  his  tutor,  with  the  result  that  for  a  time  the 
Dean's  invitations  became  less  pressing.  Sometimes 
they  went  to  the  theatre,  or  played  tennis  together;  but 
as  Jack  frequented  the  upper  gallery  and  Mather  the 
floor  of  the  theatre,  and  as  Jack  had  little  time  for  ten 
nis,  these  engagements  were  more  or  less  artificial. 


142  THE  REAL   WORLD 

Mather  lived  half  of  his  time  in  the  city,  or  at  a  country 
club  where  he  kept  his  horses.  He  never  walked ;  he 
dined  in  a  small  private  club;  he  rarely  followed  the 
college  sports.  So  Jack  observed  that  two  citizens  of  a 
democracy  may  cherish  the  most  kindly  feelings  toward 
one  another,  and  yet  never  meet  on  an  equality. 

Thus  the  first  year  wore  away  —  the  year  of  his  great 
venture,  towards  which  he  had  looked  with  so  many 
boyish  imaginings.  College  was  not  all  that  he  had  sup 
posed  it  to  be.  It  was  neither  quite  all  cakes  and  ale,  or 
beautiful,  enticing  work  which  held  one  in  spell.  Indeed, 
thus  far,  he  attended  his  lectures,  and  did  the  required 
reading  in  his  courses  conscientiously,  but  with  little  real 
appetite.  He  was  one  of  two  hundred  or  more  boys  in 
most  of  his  courses,  and  he  was  at  sea.  The  only  thing 
to  do  was  to  swim  on  stoutly  in  the  hope  some  day  of 
feeling  ground  under  his  feet.  But  this  indifferent,  un- 
emphatic  attitude  toward  his  courses  was  really  one  of 
the  best  things  Harvard  had  to  offer.  It  threw  Jack  Pem- 
berton  and  many  another  young  fellow  back  upon  the 
place  itself,  upon  the  subjects  themselves;  and  already 
before  his  freshman  year  was  spent  he  had  begun  to 
realize  that  the  intangible  spirit  of  the  college  was  more 
than  lectures  or  courses,  more  than  information  or  schol 
arship.  And  that  spirit  was  a  sense  of  catholic,  high- 
minded  living,  a  feeling  that  the  world  was  a  fine  and 
noble  place  to  live  in,  if  you  lived  in  it  like  a  gentleman. 
And  this  corner  of  the  new  world,  from  which  the  pas 
sion  and  glory  of  worldly  success  had  shifted  forever  to 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  143 

broader,  fresher  regions,  had  this  to  offer  from  its  store 
of  tradition  in  culture  and  learning,  that  to  live  finely  was 
the  best  thing  in  life,  better  than  honor  and  fame  and 
success.  Not  in  a  day,  nor  in  a  year,  but  slowly,  like  all 
truths  of  the  spirit,  this  immutable  conviction  was  born 
in  Jack  Pemberton.  Later  he  knew  that  that  was  pretty 
nearly  all  Harvard  had  given  him  from  her  treasury. 

Meantime,  it  was  a  lonely  place,  God  knows!  The 
little  world  went  its  busy  little  way  and  left  one  alone, 
especially  if  one  were  a  freshman  not  from  a  large 
school,  without  previously  formed  relations,  with  the 
puritan  shame  of  knocking  at  the  doors  of  strangers. 
Many  a  day  Jack  Pemberton  strode  up  quiet  Brattle 
Street,  out  into  the  fields  that  were  turning  green,  with 
a  thirst  for  a  human  word,  —  nay,  the  mere  presence  of 
another  silent  person.  And  he  knew  there  were  count 
less  others  among  the  hard-working  students,  or  the 
great  mass  of  middle  youth,  who  knew  their  neighbors 
well  enough  to  borrow  oil  or  matches,  who  went  to  two 
or  three  rooms  at  rare  intervals,  but  at  the  end  of  four 
years  passed  out  of  Cambridge,  as  much  alone  as  they 
had  entered  it.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Stevenson  and 
little  Black,  it  would  have  been  far  worse,  but  Stevenson 
—  "Big  Steve,"  as  he  was  usually  called  —  was  roam 
ing  ceaselessly  to  this  man  or  that;  and  little  Black, 
who  had  won  a  scholarship  at  Christmas,  was  working 
furiously  day  and  night. 

Jack  Pemberton  was  finding  his  place,  slowly  but 
inevitably,  in  the  Harvard  world.  He  was  a  "  B  "  stu 
dent,  who  wrote  a  boyish  hand,  and  whose  labored  exam- 


144  THE   REAL  WORLD 

iuation  books  lay  uudistinguished  in  the  blue  mass  submit 
ted  to  the  overworked  instructor.  He  was  trying  to  get 
on  the  Daily  Crimson,  in  emulation  of  Stevenson,  and 
correcting  manuscripts  for  the  indiscriminate  Boston 
Scavenger,  with  the  tactful  earnestness  of  one  whose  daily 
bread  depends  upon  the  adequate  accomplishment  of  the 
daily  task.  He  had  not  entered  a  private  dwelling  since 
he  had  left  his  uncle's  little  cottage,  and  had  not  spoken 
to  a  woman.  Elsie  had  written  to  him  as  she  had  prom 
ised.  She  had  not  forgotten  her  "  cub."  But  Jack,  stung 
by  the  crude  criticism  that  his  uncle  and  aunt  had  made 
of  his  liking  for  this  woman,  had  never  replied. 

Days  came,  the  warm  days  in  early  June,  in  which  the 
bluff  New  England  country  puts  forth  its  most  winsome 
aspect,  when  Jack  heard  the  thrushes  calling  from  island 
to  island  over  Green  Hill  Bay,  when  he  srnelled  the 
resinous  wine  of  the  far  North  Shore,  and  saw  the  color 
come  and  go  on  a  mobile  face  that  seemed  the  most 
responsive,  most  human  thing  in  the  round  world.  And 
the  face  of  the  ambitious  girl  confused  itself  with  the 
face  of  the  vision  he  had  seen  on  Green  Hill.  Together 
they  called  him,  and  his  heart  responded  with  a  rush  of 
tenderness,  of  service,  and  then  he  put  them  both  from 
his  mind  —  as  Woman,  the  thing  that  disturbs  and  mad 
dens  ;  the  thing  that  was  not  for  him.  But  they  came 
again  and  entered  his  heart.  Such  days  the  old  brick 
buildings,  the  busy  Square,  the  multitudinous  youth,  took 
themselves  into  the  dim,  phantasmagoric  region  that  ever 
beset  him.  This  college  world  was  no  more  real  than 
the  other  worlds,  only  more  gentle,  more  decorous.  He 


THE   HEAL   WORLD       .  145 

was  still  sitting  before  the  players'  few  yards  of  stage, 
and  hearkening  to  the  strange  sounds  of  mock  voices, 
watching  the  antic  motions  of  nervous  puppets.  Ah! 
for  the  grip  of  those  warm  fingers,  the  ripple  of  that 
laugh  .  .  . 

There  sounded  the  incessant  clap,  clap,  tap,  rap  of  the 
footsteps  of  the  youth  on  the  brick  pavement  beneath 
his  window.  The  recitations  were  out,  and  the  young 
men  were  going  hither,  thither,  as  if  the  world  were 
real,  were  really  real ! 


CHAPTER  III 

THAT  summer  Jack  took  the  place  of  the  Boston  clerk 
in  his  cousin's  hotel,  and  performed  his  duties  so  skil 
fully  that  his  uncle  and  aunt  refrained  from  criticising 
harshly  the  higher  education.  Elsie  Mason  spent  very 
few  days  at  the  Neck,  her  summer  going  in  a  round  of 
visits.  Ned  Mather  was  in  bed  in  the  Mather  cottage 
for  long  weeks,  suffering  from  rheumatic  fever,  and  the 
incipient  friendship  Jack  had  had  with  him  strength 
ened.  Late  in  the  season  Black  came  to  the  Neck  to 
tutor  Mather,  who  had  numberless  conditions,  and  the 
three  young  men  spent  a  week  together  shooting  in  the 
backwoods  of  Maine. 

When  he  returned  to  Cambridge,  the  college  world 
broadened  for  Jack.  Here  and  there  he  made  friends, 
and  finally  joined  one  of  the  more  modest  societies.  But 
the  big  Westerner  and  the  demure  student  remained  his 
only  close  companions.  Mather  had  gone  back  to  his 
polo,  and  Jack  had  not  seen  him  for  weeks,  when  one 
Saturday  afternoon  he  appeared  in  the  little  College 
House  room  and  asked  Jack  to  drive  out  to  Riverside 
with  him  and  spend  the  Sunday.  His  sister  had  opened 
the  place  for  a  few  weeks,  he  explained,  and  Jack  with 
out  hesitation  accepted.  It  would  be  odd  to  look  at  Pan- 
coast  Lane  from  the  other  side  of  the  fence !  He  found 

146 


THE   REAL   WORLD  147 

a  small  house  party  in  the  old  place  on  the  hill,  of  whom 
the  Mathers  and  Frank  Mason  were  the  only  ones  he 
knew.  They  were  all  young  people,  —  Isabelle  Mather's 
set,  —  and  they  had  a  thousand  links,  formed  from  com 
mon  enjoyments  and  common  idleness.  Miss  Mather, 
who  for  her  brother's  sake  made  special  efforts  to  in 
terest  the  new-comer,  pleased  Jack  the  least.  She  had 
grown  tall  and  thin.  Her  coloring  was  pale  and  fine; 
her  eyes  blue;  and  her  hair  almost  yellow.  A  little 
bloodless  and  delicate,  a  little  thin  and  narrow,  —  so 
Jack  thought,  —  but  for  all  that  a  distinguished  flower 
from  the  old  Puritan  family.  Her  manners  were  as  well 
thought  out  as  her  gowns,  and  she  never  forgot  herself 
for  one  instant.  Jack  detected  soon  that  there  was 
something  between  her  and  Frank  Mason,  who  was  the 
pet  of  the  set.  It  made  him  vaguely  uneasy  to  see  the 
intensity  of  feeling  that  flashed  into  Isabelle  Mather's 
deep  eyes  for  this  Mason,  whom  he  considered  a  common 
toady. 

Sunday  evening  —  it  was  at  the  close  of  a  warm  April 
day  —  Jack  came  across  the  two  in  the  old  pavilion,  which 
was  now  a  mere  wreck  for  vines  to  climb  over.  He  had 
been  prowling  about  old  Cliff's  garden,  which  was  in  the 
process  of  being  converted  into  town  lots,  and  had  for  a 
half  hour  gazed  over  into  the  weedy  back  yard  of  the 
Pancoast  Lane  house.  It  was  a  dismal  place !  The  cave 
of  misfortune,  sure  enough!  Possibly  his  family  had 
cursed  it,  and  no  successor  had  had  enough  sweetness 
to  eradicate  their  story  of  depression  and  defeat.  On 
his  way  back  he  had  turned  to  the  pavilion,  the  secret 


148  THE  REAL  WORLD 

retreat  of  his  earlier  years,  where  the  young  aristocrat 
had  given  him  his  first  social  lesson.  Frank  Mason  and 
Miss  Mather  rose  at  the  sound  of  his  steps.  He  noticed 
that  her  pale  face  was  flushed,  her  eyes  exultant;  the 
young  man  looked  consciously  satisfied.  The  intruder 
halted  clumsily  and  turned  to  leave  them  to  themselves, 
but  Miss  Mather  called  him,  with  a  cool  and  indifferent 
note  in  her  voice :  — 

"  Were  you  recalling  old  memories,  Mr.  Pemberton  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  replied  shortly,  turning  again  to  leave 
them. 

"  Don't  run  away,"  Miss  Mather  continued.  "  You 
might  point  out  the  scenes  of  your  childhood  to  Mr. 
Mason  and  me." 

Jack  thought  she  was  poking  fun  at  him,  but  in  fact 
she  was  merely  embarrassed. 

"  I  remember  pretty  distinctly  one  small,  disagreeable 
scene  that  took  place  in  this  arbor." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  she  asked  idly,  evidently  to  keep  the 
conversation  going.  Mason  whistled  and  struck  at  the 
dead  leaves  in  the  path,  gradually  drawing  away  from 
them. 

"  Merely  a  very  good  lesson  administered  by  you," 
Jack  replied. 

"Oh,  I  remember!"  Miss  Mather  admitted,  blushing 
with  annoyance.  Her  mood  was  joyous,  however,  and 
she  refused  to  be  disturbed.  Jack  made  no  effort  to  find 
a  new  topic  of  conversation.  Miss  Mather  suddenly  re 
marked,  as  if  she  had  found  some  common  ground :  — 

"I  hoped  that  Miss  Mason  would  be  here.     But  she 


THE  REAL  WORLD  149 

is  so  very  busy  in  New  York.  You  like  Miss  Mason  a 
great  deal,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Jack  answered  simply. 

"  So  do  I ! "  Miss  Mather  exclaimed,  with  unaccus 
tomed  animation.  "  She  is  so  unusual  —  and  honest, 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Jack  admitted,  in  the  same  reserved  manner. 

"  Have  you  seen  her  lately  ?  "  she  continued,  as  though 
resolved  not  to  lose  sight  of  this  topic. 

"No,  not  lately." 

The  limited  replies  dampened  the  girl's  cordiality.  At 
a  loss  what  to  do  with  this  singular  guest,  whom  her 
brother  had  injected  into  her  house  party,  she  led  the 
way  toward  the  house. 

"  Do  you  like  your  college  life,  Mr.  Pemberton  ?  "  she 
asked,  making  another  effort. 

"Sometimes,"  Jack  laughed,  and  then  Miss  Mather 
laughed  at  their  futile  attempts  to  converse.  She  was 
gay  and  excited  —  a  mood  that  Jack  attributed  to  the 
tete-&-t$te  which  he  had  interrupted. 

"Do  you  see  Mr.  Mason  in  Cambridge?"  the  girl 
asked  shyly. 

"  Never,"  Jack  replied  promptly. 

Then  she  took  him  to  the  stables  to  show  him  a  new 
pony  that  Ned  had  just  bought,  and  from  there  they 
went  to  the  conservatory  to  see  an  orchid  which  had 
been  much  praised.  Her  hospitable  attempts  irritated 
Jack,  and  yet  he  rather  liked  the  girl.  While  she  talked 
he  kept  wondering  what  qualities  in  Frank  Mason  had 
attracted  her. 


150  THE   KEAL   WORLD 

That  something  had  happened  which  might  bring 
Mason  nearer  to  the  Mather  family,  he  could  guess  from 
Ned  Mather's  attitude  toward  Mason  the  next  morning 
on  their  way  to  Cambridge.  He  caught  Mather's  cold, 
expressionless  face  studying  Mason  with  nonchalant 
scrutiny,  as  if  he  were  searching  for  the  charm  that  had 
acted  on  his  reserved  sister.  Jack  fancied  that  it  would 
not  be  altogether  agreeable  to  be  a  nouveau,  as  Elsie  ex 
pressed  it,  and  a  suitor  for  Miss  Mather's  hand.  After 
Ned's  comparatively  harmless  scrutiny,  there  would  be 
Roger's  and  the  General's.  But  Frank  Mason  was  ap 
parently  undisturbed. 

Jack  was  glad  to  be  back  in  his  work-a-day  world,  with 
an  engagement  at  the  editorial  rooms  of  the  Boston  Scav 
enger,  a  thesis  in  constitutional  history  to  be  finished, 
and  a  hundred  petty  obligations  which  weigh  upon  the 
poor  and  ambitious.  Stevenson  tramped  boisterously 
into  his  room  at  noon,  with  the  announcement  that  he 
had  been  promoted  from  the  second  to  the  first  'varsity 
boat. 

"Who  says  that  everything  goes  by  favor  in  this 
town  ?  "  he  demanded  exultantly. 

Jack  did  not  agree  with  the  inference  altogether,  but 
he  rejoiced  at  the  fact.  After  Stevenson  had  departed 
to  carry  his  joy  elsewhere,  Zimmerman  dropped  in  for 
a  few  minutes.  This  young  instructor,  who  had  recently 
passed  through  the  struggles  which  beset  Jack,  had 
taken  a  great  liking  for  the  younger  man,  and  talked 
with  him  openly  as  a  comrade.  He  it  was  who  gradu 
ally  turned  Jack's  thoughts  to  the  law  school,  that  tradi- 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  151 

tional  gate  through  which  so  many  poor  and  ambitious 
American  young  men  have  passed  out  into  life.  After 
Zimmerman  had  gone,  Jack  settled  himself  at  work,  and 
it  was  not  until  far  into  the  evening  that  the  thought 
of  Riverside,  Frank  Mason,  the  Mathers,  returned  to  his 
mind. 

Frank  Mason  might  be  said  to  have  arrived !  He  won 
dered  if  Elsie  had  been  equally  successful.  The  little 
he  had  heard  of  her  lately  had  not  enlightened  him.  As 
he  thought  of  her  in  the  idle  moments  at  the  close  of  his 
busy  day,  the  old  longing  to  be  with  her,  to  hear  her 
voice,  came  over  him.  Should  he  ever  see  her  again, 
intimately  ?  He  laughed  at  himself,  and  went  to  bed. 

Not  many  weeks  thereafter  occurred  the  first  great 
baseball  game  of  the  season  between  Harvard  and  Yale 
on  Soldiers'  Field.  As  Jack  was  leaving  at  the  close  of 
the  fifth  inning,  he  heard  his  name  called  from  a  row 
of  seats  before  which  he  had  to  pass. 

"Jack!" 

He  stopped,  and  looked  vaguely  at  the  sea  of  faces. 

"Jack!" 

There  could  be  no  mistake  in  the  tone,  and  this  time 
he  saw  Mason,  who  was  leaning  over  his  sister's  shoulder 
and  whispering.  But  Elsie  waved  Frank  aside  impa 
tiently,  and  stood  up.  Jack  raised  his  hat,  and  climbed 
impetuously  up  the  rough  corners  of  the  staging  until 
his  head  emerged  on  a  level  with  Mason's.  Elsie, 
who  had  been  watching  him  eagerly,  smiled,  and  said, 
mischievously :  — 


152  THE  REAL  WORLD 

"  Couldn't  I  do  that  ?     Give  me  your  hand." 

Before  Frank  could  place  a  detaining  hand  upon  her 
arm,  she  had  slipped  from  her  seat  and  was  swinging 
down  .the  trusses.  A  laugh  followed  her  from  the  sec 
tion.  Elsie  looked  up,  waved  her  hand  jauntily  at  her 
party,  and  turned  to  Jack. 

"  Why  haven't  you  written  me  ?  What  are  you  doing 
with  yourself  ?  Are  you  forgetful  or  just  nasty  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  forget !  "  Jack  exclaimed. 

"  Pride,  eh  ?  Bad  thing.  Now  that  stupid  game  will 
last  another  hour.  You  are  going  to  take  me  over  to  the 
river  and  talk  to  me  until  six.  Then  you  can  bring  me 
back  to  Frank's  rooms.  Come ! " 

They  skirted  the  semicircle  of  lofty  staging,  which 
was  black  with  restless  people.  Elsie  glanced  at  the 
young  man  critically.  Finally,  she  delivered  her  opin 
ion: — 

"  You're  most  a  man  now,  Jack,  did  you  know  it  ? 
And  handsome." 

"  You  have  changed,  too,"  he  replied,  blushing. 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted.  "  The  two  years  have  gone  fast. 
Tell  me  ! "  She  came  closer  to  him,  brushing  his  arm  in 
her  eagerness.  "  Do  you  like  me  just  as  well  as  ever  ?  " 

He  would  not  reply,  and  she  dashed  off  upon  a  new 
attack. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  yourself.  What  are  you  going  to 
do  ?  Have  you  made  your  place  here  ?  Who  are  your 
friends  ?  But  first,  what  profession  will  you  take  ?  I 
want  to  know  all  I " 

"  Law,  I  guess,"  Jack  responded,  with  amusement. 


THE   REAL   WOULD  153 

"  That's  good,"  she  commented  thoughtfully.  "  I 
should  say  that  or  journalism.  Law  opens  up  into  many 
paths,  — politics,  diplomacy,  higher  business.  We  Ameri 
cans  don't  think  enough  of  diplomacy.  Yes,  I  am 
pleased  with  law." 

Her  air  of  worldly  judgment  amused  Jack,  and  also 
the  summary  method  in  which  she  disposed  of  all  alter 
natives. 

"  You  haven't  influence  enough  for  business." 

"  I  thought  of  teaching,"  he  added.     Elsie  frowned. 

"Teaching,  even  the  professor's  work  in  a  university, 
doesn't  count  for  much  in  our  country.  We're  too  young. 
In  England  it  is  another  thing,  or  Germany,  but  only 
timid  ones  —  or  queer  people  you  never  know  —  take  to 
that  kind  of  thing  in  our  country.  I  don't  mean  to  be 
little  the  scholar,"  she  added,  with  an  air  of  broad  world- 
liness,  "  any  more  than  the  minister,  if  one  is  called." 

She  left  it  to  be  inferred  that  to  be  "  called  "  to  either 
form  of  ministration  should  be  regarded  as  a  calamity. 
Jack  smiled  at  her  conception  of  choosing  a  career,  as  if 
it  were  a  practical  affair  like  selecting  a  house-lot,  over 
which  one  should  not  waste  too  much  time  coquetting 
with  the  soul,  but  should  dash  ahead  at  once,  and  never 
look  back. 

"Well,  now  that  is  settled,"  she  continued,  "tell  me 
about  your  friends,  your  social  life.  People,  you  know, 
are  more  important  than  books.  Every  solid  acquaint 
ance  you  make  now  is  like  a  seed  planted ;  you  will  get 
results  later.  You  know  I  don't  mean  that  in  the  snobby 
way  Frank  would  take  it !  I  don't  mean  merely  as  con- 


154  THE   REAL   WORLD 

nections  they  will  be  valuable,  but  as  interests.  You 
should  know  people  who  will  mean  something  in  the 
world,  as  you  will  mean  something." 

"I  haven't  much  to  show,"  Jack  responded  half- 
humorously.  "Only  little  Black,  and  Big  Steve,  and 
Mather,  and  Zimmerman." 

He  sketched  these  friends  for  her  in  a  few  words. 

"  I  like  your  man  Stevenson,"  Elsie  responded  quickly. 
"  Frank  would  not  know  enough  to  appreciate  him,  would 
see  only  his  '  bounder '  side  ;  but  power  will  out,  and  the 
power  in  our  country  lies  with  just  such  men.  Black's 
story  is  pathetic  and  all  that,  but  he  will  be  a  mouse  in 
a  corner.  Don't  take  yourself  cheaply.  People  will 
make  room  for  you  at  your  own  estimate  of  size.  Make 
that  large,"  she  ended  sagely. 

Her  parade  of  aphoristic  wisdom  amused  and  troubled 
Jack,  and  yet  he  was  inclined  to  heed  her  advice  as  he 
had  done  before.  He  suspected  that  she  voiced  the 
thoughts  of  the  people  with  whom  she  lived. 

"Now  you?"  he  suggested. 

"  Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  new  zest  of  egotism,  "  I 
have  seen  so  much ! " 

And  she  plunged  in,  talking  rapidly,  helping  out  her 
meaning  with  little  gestures,  calling  upon  his  sympathy 
to  fill  in  with  detail  what  she  had  time  merely  to  hint 
at.  Her  circle  had  widened  and  shifted.  There  was  an 
odor  of  what  Elsie  called  "  Bohemianism "  to  it.  Tut- 
trell's  name  came  in  again  and  again.  Jack  had  seen  this 
name  in  the  popular  magazines.  He  was  a  spirit  that 
lived  in  the  mixed  waters  of  literature,  journalism,  and 


THE   REAL   WORLD  155 

magazine  appearance.  To  coin  a  word,  he  was  "  magazin- 
ist."  Elsie  seemed  to  prize  him  highly,  as  a  kind  of 
intellectual  etiquette  to  the  social  brew  she  was  making. 
She  also  handled  familiarly  the  name  of  Scanlan,  the 
artist,  assuming  that  the  man's  fame  had  reached  Jack's 
world.  In  an  aside  she  counselled  him  to  see  pictures : 
there  was  no  better  road  to  real  culture.  Then  there  were 
foreigners — artists,  attaches,  special  commissioners.  Her 
ease  with  foreign  languages  had  been  helpful.  She  ad 
vised  Jack  to  master  French,  at  least.  Lastly  came 
more  familiar  names,  and  among  them  the  Mathers,  who 
seemed  of  quite  secondary  importance  now.  "Frank, 
you  know,  is  very  sweet  on  Isabelle,"  she  closed. 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  river  path,  where  the 
dredging  machines  were  at  work.  The  sunset  was  fading 
over  the  green  cemetery.  Elsie  looked  at  her  watch 
with  a  business-like  sense  of  time. 

"  We  must  get  back  to  Frank's  room,"  she  ordered. 

Jack  found  surprisingly  little  to  say  to  this  alert, 
worldly-wise  young  woman,  whose  very  sympathy  was 
mere  egotism.  She  had  outdistanced  him  again  in  these 
two  years.  She  swept  the  pretty  spring  landscape, 
bounded  by  the  graceful  curves  of  the  Brookline  hills, 
but  her  face  betrayed  no  especial  pleasure.  She  gathered 
her  dainty  skirt  in  her  firm  hand  to  protect  it  from  the 
dew  of  the  marsh  grass. 

"  It's  great  to  be  with  you,  Jack,"  she  remarked,  re- 
burning  as  always  to  the  dominant  personal  note.  "  Give 
ne  your  arm !  There,  I  like  to  feel  that  you  are  tall  and 
trong." 


156  THE   KEAL   WORLD 

They  talked  little  on  their  way  back.  When  they 
reached  the  streets  of  the  town,  which  were  filled 
with  students  accompanying  ladies,  she  dropped  his 
arm. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  pay  me  that  visit  ? "  she 
demanded.  "This  spring?" 

"  Oh,  sometime,"  he  replied  evasively. 

"  But  you  will  write,  at  least  ?     And  this  summer  ?  " 

"I  have  some  work  in  Boston.  I  shan't  be  at  the 
Neck." 

"  Then  you  must  come  on  the  first  thing  next  fall,  and 
write  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

She  threw  all  the  stress  of  her  imperative  will  into  the 
demand,  and  forgetting  his  resolution,  he  agreed  to  write, 
to  visit  her,  not  to  drift  away  again. 

They  met  Frank  at  the  entrance  to  Clarerly  with  Miss 
Mather  and  her  brother  and  the  chaperone.  They  all 
stood  chatting  for  a  few  minutes.  Miss  Mather  spoke 
to  Jack ;  her  face  had  the  same  joyous  animation  he  had 
felt  in  her  mood  at  Riverside.  She  had  forgotten  herself 
momentarily,  and  was  happy  at  nothing.  Frank  asked 
Jack  to  join  them  at  supper,  but  he  refused  and  took 
leave  of  them,  Elsie  nodding  to  him  lightly  as  if  they 
should  meet  on  the  morrow.  Ned  Mather  overtook  him 
after  he  had  gone  a  little  way,  and  the  two  strolled  toward 
the  noisy  avenue  where  the  crowded  electric  cars  were 
making  a  great  noise. 

"  Odd,  isn't  it  ? "  Mather  observed  in  his  tranquil, 
detached  manner. 

"What's  odd?" 


THE   KEAL   WORLD  157 

"  That  such  a  thoroughbred  and  such  a  mongrel  should 
come  from  the  same  stock." 

The  epithets  seemed  to  Jack  especially  apt ;  coming 
from  a  possible  brother-in-law,  they  had  a  strange 
audacity. 

Nevertheless,  the  visit  to  New  York  was  put  off  for  one 
reason  or  another.  Elsie  wrote  at  long  intervals,  and 
Jack  answered  at  still  longer  intervals.  He  was  exceed 
ingly  busy  :  by  taking  extra  courses  and  studying  in  the 
summer  school  while  working  in  Boston,  he  finished  his 
undergraduate  course  in  three  years  and  entered  the  law 
school.  He  had  worked  hard,  achieving  a  reputation 
among  the  instructors  who  noticed  him  of  honest  intel 
ligence  and  maturity  rather  than  of  cleverness.  His 
silent,  inquiring  face  attracted  the  attention  of  a  lec 
turer,  who  found  himself  frequently  talking  to  this  face 
rather  than  to  his  class.  Yet  it  was  impossible  to  sur 
mount  the  youthful  shyness  and  reticence  of  the  fellow : 
the  instructors  never  came  to  know  him. 

One  May  day,  at  the  close  of  his  first  year  in  the  law 
school,  the  occasion  for  the  visit  came  about.  Steve  was 
ill  in  New  York,  his  sister  Mary  wrote  him,  and  his 
mother  thought  he  should  show  enough  brotherly  feeling 
to  see  what  could  be  done  for  Steve.  And  one  of  Elsie's 
rare  letters  had  come  that  week.  It  was  an  unusually 
flattered  missive,  ending:  — 

"  But  I  can't  write  it  —  this  thing  which  I  started  to 
tell  you.  It  is  very  important,  and  I  want  to  see  you. 
Do  you  care  enough  after  these  three  years  to  come  ?  " 


158  THE   EEAL   WORLD 

Was  he  boy  enough  to  follow  the  bait  ?  He  knew  that 
he  was. 

It  was  a  little  epoch  in  his  life  this  journey  to  New 
York.  With  a  certain  complacency  he  reviewed  the 
years  since  the  girl's  honest,  kindly  words  had  first 
aroused  his  boy's  mind.  Then  he  had  framed  a  plan, 
and  now  he  could  see  it  partly  executed.  She  had  said 
that  the  first  thing  which  separated  him  from  other 
people  was  education.  That  in  the  accepted  sense  he 
had  got,  and  he  could  see  his  way  pretty  clearly  to  his 
professional  training.  A  small  publishing  house  had 
offered  him  work,  which  he  could  do  while  taking  his 
courses  in  the  law  school.  And  in  the  larger  experi 
ence  of  life  he  had  gained  something;  his  Harvard,  maybe, 
was  narrow  and  quiet,  but  it  was  nevertheless  dear  to 
him.  He  had  accepted  his  position  in  the  great  middle 
class  of  nobodies,  and  had  made  himself  respected  enough. 

So,  as  he  walked  down  the  flag-stones  beneath  the  trees 
that  were  pushing  out  their  young  leaves,  and  enjoyed  the 
May  sunshine  which  had  opened  the  windows  and  drawn 
the  men  out  of  doors,  he  had  a  pleasant  content.  "  Big 
Steve "  joined  him  on  his  way  home  from  a  class,  and 
they  dawdled  companionably  in  the  warm  air.  Stevenson, 
who  had  renounced  'varsity  athletics  in  his  senior  year, 
smoked  his  pipe  with  all  the  enjoyment  given  by  a  long 
period  of  enforced  fast.  They  talked  of  little  Black's 
triumph  in  getting  final  highest  honors  in  classics. 

"Done  in  handsome  style  —  just  nerve,"  the  big  fellow 
commented  appreciatively.  "He'll  get  one  of  the  best 
scholarships,  and  then  a  travelling  one,  and  some  day 


THE   REAL   WORLD  159 

he'll  be  a  Ph.D.  of  some  German  university,  and  then  up 
there  behind  a  desk  is  Sever.  Would  you  like  it  ?  " 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  No  more  than  I,  but  it's  pretty  to  see  a  man  cut  out 
from  the  herd,  and  lay  a  straight  line  across  the  prairie 
all  by  his  lonesome." 

"  You  gave  him  his  boost,"  Jack  demurred. 

"  That  don't  count,"  Stevenson  responded  wisely,  wag 
ging  his  pipe.  "  It  isn't  the  boost  —  there  are  plenty  of 
them ;  it's  the  jump  a  man's  got  after  he's  had  the  boost. 
Zimmerman  gave  you  the  boost,  and  he's  given  it  to 
others ;  but  you  took  it  with  a  spring.  What  do  you  say 
to  coming  out  to  Mound  City  with  me  this  summer  ?  "  he 
ended  abruptly. 

"And  what?"  Jack  asked. 

"  Oh !  just  to  look  around,  and  breathe  the  prairie  air 
a  few  months.  You  can  have  your  horse  and  rig,  and  if 
you  want  to  hunt  a  job,  the  old  man  will  fix  up  something 
on  a  ranch  or  in  the  road.  The  road's  just  getting  on  its 
feet.  They're  building  an  extension  nearly  as  long  as  the 
road  itself.  I'm  going  to  touch  the  old  man  for  the  job 
of  'general  counsel'  when  I've  swallowed  enough  law. 
I  will  look  out  for  you  if  you  say  so." 

The  Iowa  and  Northern,  as  the  railroad  was  ambi 
tiously  named,  was  a  byword  and  joke  among  Big  Steve's 
friends.  Stevenson  had  told  Jack  the  story  of  its  forma 
tion  and  growth,  the  dramatic  story  of  the  elder  Steven 
son's  struggle  for  the  success  of  the  little  railroad.  Jack, 
accustomed  to  Big  Steve's  hyperbolic  imagination,  made 
the  proper  New  England  discount  upon  all  the  optimistic 


160  THE   KEAL   WOULD 

suggestions  thus  thrown  out.  Yet,  standing  there  in  the 
scented  spring  air,  his  first  heat  in  life  well  run,  with 
broader  avenues  opening  before  his  energetic  will,  the 
inner  joy  of  sturdy  friendship  at  his  heart,  he  began  to 
see  the  world  of  shapes  take  form  and  substance.  Possi 
bly  in  time  it  would  come  to  speak  to  him  personally ; 
already  he  seemed  to  stand  above  the  vanity  and  worldli- 
ness  of  Elsie  and  her  associates,  and  to  feel  her  desires 
to  be  petty  and  mean,  not  sufficient  for  the  broad  purposes 
of  a  man. 


CHAPTEE  IV 

THE  Masons  were  living  iii  a  large,  new  "double- 
decker  "  apartment  overlooking  the  Park.  Certain  pieces 
of  Italian  renaissance  furniture,  mixed  with  Louis  XV. 
mirrors,  hung  against  faded  brocade,  aud  a  number 
of  battered  candlesticks  and  old  prints  appeared  rather 
odd  in  the  radiator-and-hardwood-floor  American  apart 
ment.  But  they  spoke  of  Elsie  and  her  wanderings,  as 
did  also  the  authors'  copies  of  several  modern  books 
scattered  over  the  table  by  her  desk.  On  the  one  hand 
she  was  seeking  to  make  her  way  among  people ;  on 
the  other  she  amused  herself  with  artists,  and  believed 
she  had  tastes. 

Jack  came  in  at  dinner,  at  which  he  was  the  only  guest. 
They  were  all  to  go  to  the  opera,  a  first  night  of  some  new 
singer,  and  Elsie  seemed  more  absorbed  in  that  than  in 
anything  else.  After  dinner,  while  he  was  smoking  a  ciga 
rette,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mason  were  putting  on  their 
wraps,  she  came  and  stood  before  him  with  a  little  air 
of  expectant  admiration.  She  had  grown  thin,  and  that 
had  seemingly  added  to  her  height,  and  had  deepened 
her  eyes.  Her  complexion,  in  spite  of  the  season's  wear 
and  tear,  had  the  velvety  softness  of  a  child's.  In  her 

31  161 


162  THE  HEAL   WOELD 

opera  cloak,  with  her  long,  dangling  white  gloves,  the 
touch  of  smooth  skin  across  the  shoulders,  and  the  black 
line  of  her  dress,  she  deserved  the  admiration. 

"  You  like  me  ?  " 

"  Tremendously." 

"  I  was  never  better."  She  patted  the  fur-tipped  sleeves 
of  her  cloak  approvingly. 

"  Never ! " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  talk  to-night ;  you  must  come  to-mor 
row  morning  at  eleven-thirty,  remember,  and  then  we'll 
be  by  ourselves,  and  I'll  tell  you  everything  " 

Jack  laughed. 

"  A  great  secret  ?  " 

"  A  very  great  secret,  and  you  must  approve.  Ah ! 
Jack  it's  so  good  to  see  you;  you're  one  that  just  fits, 
everywhere,  here,"  —  she  tapped  her  heart, — "and  here," 
—  she  swept  her  head.  "I  know  something  about  you. 
You  are  sincere  and  solemn,  and  much  re-spected."  She 
drew  the  word  out  mockingly  like  a  child.  "  Why  didn't 
you  make  up  to  that  nice  Belle  Mather,  the  one  Frank's 
going  to  marry  ?  She's  of  the  party  to-night.  But  you 
mustn't  marry,"  she  galloped  on.  "  It  would  ruin  you, 
now,  and  you'd  take  some  duffer  of  a  girl  who  had  been 
sweet  to  you.  And  there  you'd  be,  —  flat,  a  thousand  a 
year,  babies.  No,  Jackey,  just  bleed  the  world  a  little 
first.  I  won't  let  you  marry." 

She  raced  on,  in  a  wave  of  high  spirits,  which  never 
flagged  for  an  instant.  At  the  theatre  they  met  Gushing, 
and  Miss  Mather,  and  Frank,  who  had  come  with  another 
party.  Although  it  was  late  in  the  season,  the  evening 


THE  REAL   WORLD  163 

was  what  Elsie  pronounced  brilliant.  The  boxes  were 
filled,  and  Elsie  amused  herself  with  pointing  out  people 
of  importance  to  Jack,  who  sat  behind  her  in  their  box. 
As  she  swept  the  auditorium  with  her  glass,  each  dis 
covery  elicited  an  exclamation  and  comment.  This  was 
her  world,  the  one  she  labored  for  and  despised.  The 
young  man  at  her  side  looked  up  and  down  the  boxes 
with  their  women,  old,  young,  homely,  pretty,  over 
dressed,  over  jewelled,  haggard,  plump,  vicious,  vacuous, 
or  indifferent,  and  wondered,  like  a  young  man,  what 
could  make  the  array  so  vitally  absorbing,  what  aspira 
tion  could  be  perpetually  fed  by  the  sight  of  this  Ameri 
can  aristocracy.  Gushing,  who  had  grown  stouter  and 
grayer  and  slower  in  movement  these  last  years,  stood 
at  the  other  side  of  Elsie  and  drawled  comments.  It 
was  a  relief  when  the  orchestra  compelled  partial  silence. 

A  throng  of  people  dashed  in  and  out  of  the  box  during 
the  entr'actes.  Gushing  and  Frank  made  their  calls,  but 
Jack  sat  on,  dumb  and  overlooked  in  his  corner,  trying  to 
see  the  world  as  these  people  saw  it,  and  getting  hope 
lessly  puzzled.  Some  of  the  women  leaned  close  to 
Elsie's  ear  and  whispered  something  that  made  her 
smile,  and  then  pressed  her  hand  meaningly.  Finally, 
Jack  roused  himself  and  talked  with  Isabelle  Mather, 
who  was  pale  and  more  bloodless  than  ever,  with  black 
circles  beneath  her  eyes.  To  be  engaged,  Jack  observed, 
for  a  woman  in  the  world,  was  a  great  strain.  Even  the 
natural  pleasures  of  humanity  came  with  social  weight 
and  worry. 

"Don't  be  peevish!"  Elsie  exclaimed  the  next  morn- 


164  THE  EEAL   WORLD 

ing  when  Jack  arrived  on  the  moment  designated.  "I 
hate  peevish  children,  and  you  were  very  peevish  yester 
day  evening." 

"I'm  no  good  with  people,"  Jack  defended  himself. 

"  Lumpy !  Make  yourself  some  good.  Do  you  think 
people  are  going  to  look  through  your  glum  eyes  and  sour 
mouth,  and  see  what  a  gold  mine  they're  missing  in  that 
solid  head." 

"  You  are  so  tired,  Elsie ! "  he  retorted  impulsively. 
"You  look  this  morning  years  older  than  at  the  Neck. 
What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Jack,"  she  smiled  dolefully,  "  I  am  tired,  and  years 
older.  We  can't  talk  here.  Let's  go  out  to  the  Park 
among  the  nurse  maids." 

When  they  had  dodged  the  thundering  cars  in  the 
street  and  plunged  into  the  green  park,  she  began :  — 

"  You  don't  know  how  good  it  is  to  see  you.  It's  like 
a  taste  from  the  salty  ocean  across  Seal  Island!  Will 
you  be  good  to  me  and  understand,  try  to  understand — I 
always  want  to  tell  you  things,  Jack." 

She  was  the  pleading  child  once  more,  demanding  that 
everything  about  her  should  be  in  tune,  throwing  herself 
impulsively  on  the  mercy  of  his  stolid  will,  —  a  tired, 
worn  child,  who  had  an  unusually  long  sum  in  arithmetic 
before  her  and  had  forgotten  the  rules.  He  made  no  re 
sponse,  confident  that  more  was  to  come,  passive  as  was 
his  habit  in  words,  but  with  a  dumb,  masculine  tender 
ness  in  face  and  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know  what's  happened  ? "  Elsie  broke  in 
again.  "  Do  you  know  what  I  made  you  come  on  for  ?  " 


THE   REAL    WORLD  165 

At  last  Jack  looked  up  from  the  gravel  path  which  he 
had  been  studying,  and  asked  abruptly :  "  Do  you  like 
Bushy  —  Mr.  Gushing,  I  mean  ?  " 

"Jack,"  —  she  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  made 
him  stand  still,  — "  I'm,  well  I'm  going  to  marry 
Bushy." 

He  dropped  his  arm,  as  if  struck  by  some  unforeseen 
calamity. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  You  take  it  as  if  I  had  just  said 
I  was  going  to  take  poison.  See,  listen,  and  don't  be 
peevish."  She  led  the  way  to  a  bench,  and,  sitting 
down,  turned  her  face  to  his ;  she  was  serious,  eager  to  con 
vince  him,  to  justify  herself.  "  I  admire  Mr.  Gushing  im 
mensely  —  you  don't  understand  him  !  He  is  very  clever 
—  not  your  way,  but  in  business,  and  has  made  all  his 
fortune,  himself.  He's  wanted  to  marry  me  for  years, 
and,  well,  I'm  engaged." 

Jack  laughed  vacantly.     It  was  all  very  absurd. 

"  He  belongs  to  a  good  family,  too,  and  we  don't." 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  "  Jack  asked  roughly, 
laughing  at  her. 

"  Everything !     I  want  —  my  chance." 

She  emphasized  the  words  lingeringly,  and  as  Jack 
gave  her  no  clew,  nothing  to  argue  about,  she  con 
tinued  :  — 

"I  am  always  on  the  outside,  a  rank  outsider;  you 
can't  see,  but  I  know  and  feel  it  every  day.  And  to  have 
the  best  people  for  friends,  you've  got  to  have  position. 
Now  I  can't  make  a  position,  can  I  ?  I've  done  pretty 
well  with  what  I  have  had  to  start  with.  But  you  can't 


166  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

pick  up  the  nicest  people  here  and  there  as  you  want 
'em.  Money  won't  do  it.  And  I  haven't  even  money. 
A  woman  must  have  position,  Jack ;  of  course  you  can't 
understand  that,  but  if  you  went  about  —  when  you  know 
the  world  —  you'll  understand." 

She  used  her  hands  nervously,  outlining  in  the  air  the 
vague  creations  of  her  mind,  which  loomed  before  her  as 
vividly  as  the  distant  roofs  of  the  city  that  he  could  see 
in  the  haze  beyond  the  Park.  She  was  groping  for  a 
larger  field,  a  higher  altitude,  and  he  listened,  trying  to 
grasp  her  meaning. 

"  One  doesn't  want  to  be  second-rate,  Jack,  does  one  ?  " 
she  questioned  scornfully,  and  went  on  without  pause. 
"I  want  people  about  me,  millions  of  'em,  and  houses, 
and  horses,  and  —  everything  up  there."  She  waved  her 
hand  sharply  in  the  direction  of  the  avenue.  "  And  he 
sympathizes,  he  understands  what  a  woman  needs,  and 
we  shall  be  united,  I  think." 

Jack  laughed  again  senselessly. 

"  You  don't  do  him  justice !  His  father  lost  all  he 
had  before  he  died,  and  Mr.  Gushing  has  made  his  own 
fortune,  built  up  his  business  himself,  —  that's  a  fine 
thing,  Jack,  —  and  earned  the  respect  of  self-made  men,  as 
well  as  old  swells  like  Marchmount  and  General  Mather. 
Shouldn't  I  feel  proud  that  a  man  like  that  cares  to 
marry  me,  a  nobody  from  Ohio  ?  " 

"I  guess  so,"  Jack  observed  laconically,  and  then 
laughed  again.  "You  talk  queerly,  though,  using  your 
wits  too  much." 

"  Oh,  Jack,"  she  murmured  appealingly.     "  Don't  say 


THE   REAL  WORLD  167 

that.  You  know  I  can  feel —  Well,"  —  her  voice 
changed  to  a  new,  hard  key, — "suppose  I  am  heartless 
and  worldly.  What  of  it  ?  " 

"But  you're  not,  all  the  way  through,"  Jack  remon 
strated  stoutly. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  feel  as  hard  as  nails  some  days.  I 
feel  I  could  do  anything  to  get  what  I  wanted." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  what  you  have  ?  " 

"To  be  snubbed  by  Mrs.  Marchmount !  You  don't 
understand,  Jack.  You  think  all  those  people  fashion 
able  you  saw  yesterday  at  the  opera.  Well,  they're  not ; 
most  of  them  are  only  halfway.  And  that's  what  I 
have  been  all  my  life,  just  halfway  —  a  kind  of  superior 
hotel  girl.  Papa  and  mamma  don't  want  anything  better 
than  good  dinners  and  the  theatre,  but  I,"  —  her  passion 
ate  face  wore  the  expression  of  age  that  had  come  about 
her  eyes  —  "I  will  go  farther,  and  the  first  thing  to  do  is 
to  marry ! " 

"  He  takes  you  on  those  terms,  does  he  ?  "  Jack  asked 
curiously.  "  Doesn't  he  want  you  to  love  him  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  love  him,  Jack  —  I'd  be  a  fool  to  marry 
him  if  I  didn't !  And  it  would  be  very  wrong,  too !  I 
don't  love  him  sentimentally,  and  gushingly,  like  a  girl, 
but  honestly,  with  respect  and  all  that." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  love  him  any  too  much ! " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  You're  too  clear-headed  about  it,  and  what  you  want 
to  get." 

"Nonsense !     You're  a  mere  boy." 

(l Think  so  ?  "    He  turned  his  bloodshot  brown  eyes  on 


168  THE   REAL   WORLD 

her  hungrily.  "You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  love,  I 
believe,  and  perhaps  never  will." 

"  What  is  it  to  love,  then  ?  "  she  asked,  with  childish 
impetuosity,  as  if  eager  for  the  revelation  of  a  new 
mystery. 

"It's  to  see  what  you  love  taken  away  before  your 
eyes,  and  keep  on  loving  for  the  sake  of  loving,"  Jack 
answered,  rather  darkly.  "  It's  to  care  for  nothing  else, 
to  see  nothing  else,  to  hope  for  nothing  else." 

"  Could  you  love  that  way  ?  "  she  demanded,  with  vivid 
curiosity. 

"  Elsie,  Elsie,"  he  repeated,  lingering  on  the  name  that 
he  rarely  used  even  to  himself,  "I  love  you  that  way, 
and  it's  so  sublimely  silly,  especially  now !  But  I  know 
what  I  say  is  so.  I  shall  always  love  you  —  " 

He  stopped,  embarrassed  by  his  courage.  The  girl's 
buoyant  manner  sank  to  a  stillness  that  was  oppressive. 

"  Nonsense ! "  she  exclaimed  at  length,  with  an  effort. 
"  You're  silly,  and  I  never  expected  that  of  you.  We've 
never  been  sentimental." 

"  Don't  bother  about  it,"  Jack  retorted,  wincing.  "  I 
shouldn't  have  said  anything  if  it  hadn't  been  so  far 
away  and  impossible.  Put  it  down  to  me  as  a  little 
eccentricity  —  it  won't  do  you  any  harm.  But  that's 
what  love  is  —  the  power  to  care  just  the  same  when  it's 
beyond  your  reach." 

"You're  not  a  boy  any  longer,"  she  said,  after  a  mo 
ment,  "  and  I  am  glad  you  feel  that  way.  It  somehow 
is  so  strange  ! " 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his,  as  though  to  bring  them 


THE    REAL   WORLD  169 

nearer.  He  took  it  gently,  and  touched  it  softly  with 
his  other  hand.  "Always,"  he  muttered.  "Almost! 
almost ! " 

"What  do  you  mean,  Jack?"  she  asked,  with  grave 
curiosity. 

He  smiled,  his  eyes  far  away  upon  the  misty  hills 
above  Green  Bay. 

"A  feeling  I  have,"  he  explained,  "that  things  are 
always  just  beyond,  hidden  away,  beyond  my  reach. 
You  stepped  out  from  the  fog,  and  now  you  will  step 
back." 

"No,  no,  no,"  she  iterated  appealingly.  "Don't!  I 
want  you  to  love  me  for  always." 

"A  selfish  child !" 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted  honestly.     "  Horribly  selfish." 

"  Well,  you  will  always  have  it  —  will  that  please  you, 
Elsie  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  withdrawing  her  hand  as  a  victo 
ria  came  toward  them  from  the  lower  end  of  the  park. 

"  Of  course,"  she  resumed,  when  the  carriage  had  passed, 
"  I've  thought  about  all  that.  But  I  suppose  I  am  not 
like  most  girls.  I'm  practical  and  outspoken,  and  —  really 
matter  of  fact.  Perhaps  I  haven't  what  people  call 
heart." 

"I  hope  not,"  the  young  man  commented  bluntly. 
"  And  that  you'll  never  discover  one  later.  People  seem 
§11  alike,"  he  mused  on.  "  Groping  for  something  that 
will  be  real  to  them.  I  wonder  if  most  of  them  ever  find 
it !  I  thought  you  were  different  —  never  had  to  go  a-grop- 
ing  in.  the  dark,  but  you're  groping  harder  than  the 


170  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

rest.  I  hope  you'll  find  what  you  want,  I'm  sure.  I  think 
I  never  shall." 

"  Of  course  I'll  find  it,"  she  rejoined  triumphantly,  re 
lieved  that  they  were  back  once  more  on  the  safe  ground 
of  her  puissant  ambitions,  where  her  indomitable  will  and 
assurance  could  find  ground  to  play.  "  I  shall  be  some 
body  —  the  world  will  move." 

"  Your  world  will  always  move,"  he  assented,  with  a 
touch  of  his  old  admiration. 

"  And  I've  thought,  too,  that  I  could  make  yours  a  little 
better.  Yes,  really,  I've  thought  lots  about  that  —  what 
I  could  do  for  you  when  I  am  established." 

He  did  not  thank  her,  and  she  continued  coaxingly :  — 

"  Bushy  —  we  are  going  to  build  a  splendid  cottage  at 
High  Head,  the  other  side  of  the  Neck.  He  bought  the 
land  last  summer.  And  there  are  to  be  loads  and  loads 
of  guest-rooms,  and  a  small  harbor,  and  a  breakwater,  and 
stables.  And  we've  selected  a  lot  up  here  east  of  the 
Park. " 

"  Then  the  fog  will  lift,"  he  remarked,  following  a  dif 
ferent  line  of  thought. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  mean  by  the  fog ! "  she  demanded. 

So  he  tried  to  tell  her  how  his  life  had  been — the  sim 
ple,  intangible  experiences  of  his  soul,  the  perpetual  iso 
lation,  the  nothings,  until  he  had  known  her. 

"And  you  were  real,"  he  ended,  with  a  laugh.  "At 
least  I  thought  so." 

"  You  think  I'm  not  now.     I'm  groping  ?  " 

"Yes." 

*'  In  a  selfish  way,  blindly,  marrying  Bushy  ?  " 


THE  REAL   WORLD  171 

"  Yes,  marrying  Bushy  ! " 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  acknowledged,  "but  I  don't  feel 
this  way  often.  I  see  things  and  I  want  them." 

"  I  hope  you'll  get  them,"  he  answered,  a  little  wearily. 

"  Well,  we  must  go  home  for  luncheon  now,"  she  re 
joined  briskly.  "You  must  be  nice  to  Bushy  —  I'll 
make  him  be  nice  to  you." 

They  walked  down  the  path  in  silence,  but  before  they 
came  out  into  the  glare  of  the  avenue  near  the  apartment 
building,  she  paused  a  moment  and  put  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"  Jack,  I  don't  love  that  way ! "  Her  face  was  very  ear 
nest  and  puzzled.  "  Perhaps  there's  something  the  mat 
ter  with  me !  But  I  am  glad  you  —  feel  that  way.  Will 
you  always  ?  " 

"  Always,"  he  repeated,  laughing  ironically,  "  long  after 
you  have  forgotten  this  and  me." 

"  I  sha'n't  forget,  Jack  !    You  have  given  me  too  much." 

He  smiled  sadly  in  acknowledgment,  and  taking  her 
small,  firm  hand,  carried  it  to  his  lips.  Then  he  blushed, 
discomfited,  with  the  Anglo-Saxon  self-consciousness  in 
yielding  to  his  impulse. 

"  Jack,  dear  Jack !  "  she  murmured,  and  seemed  loath 
to  have  the  moment  pass. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  the  genuine  tenderness  of  her  voice,  her 
manner,  there  was  something  in  the  very  firmness  of  flesh, 
the  cool  hard  tones  of  the  face  and  hands  that  gave  the  man 
a  sensation  of  essential  coldness.  Perhaps  to  every  one,  — 
to  the  next  caller,  or  Bushy  himself,  —  she  was  equally 
frank,  generous,  entertaining,  and  heartless.  There  was 


172  THE  HEAL  WORLD 

nothing  false  or  hypocritical  in  her,  and  possibly  nothing 
capable  of  great  tenderness,  of  great  passion  and  devo 
tion.  If  so,  she  might  be  wise  to  play  with  her  world  as 
she  had.  When  she  left  him  at  the  entrance  to  the  Park — 
for  he  refused  to  return  to  luncheon — and  walked  away, 
erect,  determined,  admirably  capable  for  any  event,  he 
felt  again  those  firm,  cool  hands,  and  saw  the  gray,  cool 
eyes.  Was  it  perfect  health,  perfect  sanity,  —  and  noth 
ing  more  ? 

He  roamed  about  the  Park  aimlessly,  and  after  a  time 
he  found  the  bench  where  they  had  sat,  and  stayed  there 
for  hours.  He  listened  closely  for  the  tones  of  the  girl's 
voice,  and  he  still  tingled  with  the  glow  she  had  always 
given  him  —  in  spite  of  the  wretched  conviction  that  for 
the  first  time  she  was  taking  a  false  step,  which  would 
lead  her  into  undreamed-of  difficulties  and  self-deceits. 
She  was  so  possessed  by  what  immediately  surrounded 
her!  Could  she  not  see  that  in  a  short  time  these  sur 
roundings  would  shift,  vanish,  change,  and  that  the  bustle 
of  her  mind  would  change  too  ? 

He  was  not  so  devoid  of  humor  as  not  to  smile  at  him 
self,  —  twenty-one,  as  nearly  penniless  as  a  man  could  be, 
his  'prentice  years  not  finished,  and  in  love  with  a  woman 
who  cared  supremely  for  all  the  things  that  he  had  not ! 
Until  she  had  told  him,  in  her  casual,  irresponsible 
manner,  that  she  was  to  marry,  he  had  never  thought 
what  she  was  to  him.  He  told  her  that  he  should  always 
love  her,  —  and  he  had  no  sense  now  of  personal  loss. 
For  in  his  imagination  she  was  always  moving  in  spaces 
"withdrawn  from  his  silent  world.  Her  determination  to 


THE  REAL  WORLD  173 

marry  this  man,  or  any  other,  was  but  a  harsh  sign  of  her 
physical  remoteness  from  him.  That  could  not  take 
away  his  love  or  stale  the  joy  of  it.  It  simply  set  it 
firm,  as  one  of  the  unalterable  elements  of  his  life. 
She  would  need  it,  too,  he  felt  secretly,  —  she  would 
always  need  love  and  devotion,  more  than  one  man  could 
give,  more  than  this  gray,  heavy  person  called  Gushing 
had  the  power  to  give.  Some  day  in  the  more  peopled 
future,  he  should  touch  her  perchance  more  nearly. 

The  feathery  verdure  of  the  trees  swam  mistily  in  the 
soft  heavens,  the  roar  of  the  great  city  enveloped  the  Park, 
like  a  powerful  overtone.  An  energetic  sparrow  hopped 
pretentiously  to  and  fro  on  the  gravelled  path  in  front  of 
his  bench,  —  officiously  displaying  its  private  affairs. 
From  the  gay  people  in  the  opera  boxes  to  this  important 
sparrow  at  his  feet  life  hummed  past  him,  each  member 
performing  with  ridiculous  self-absorption  and  energy 
his  little  puppet-show !  He  drew  himself  from  the 
bench,  and  slowly,  wearily  feeling  the  pounds  of  his 
body  and  counting  his  steps,  he  walked  on,  determined 
to  plant  himself  in  the  thick  of  things,  sooner  or 
later,  and  start  there  his  puppet-show  and  lose  him 
self  as  the  others  did  in  enthusiasm  over  their  own 
antics. 

The  girl  was  so  fair  and  appealing !  Her  white  hand 
trembled  in  his,  her  eyes  struggled  to  see  beyond  the 
surface  brilliance  of  her  little  scene,  her  mouth  rippled 
in  eager  speech — the  pity  that  she  would  cast  herself 
into  that  man's  cold  arms ! 

His  purposeless  steps  brought  him  to  the  steep  heights 


174  THE  REAL  WORLD 

^ 

far  up  the  city.  He  looked  down  hungrily  into  the  city's 
depth,  searching  in  the  indistinguishable  blur  of  roofs 
for  the  big  apartment  building  that  held  her.  That  was 
her  world,  the  opulent  city  !  And  he  was  a  trauip  who 
had  wandered  into  its  streets.  Some  day  he  should 
return  to  the  city  and  to  her. 


CHAPTER  V 

STEVE  PEMBERTON  lived  in  a  small  flat  in  a  new  apart 
ment  building  on  one  of  the  thoroughfares  of  upper 
Harlem.  When  Jack  called  he  was  admitted,  after  a 
long  delay,  by  a  young  woman  who  peered  around  the 
edge  of  the  door,  holding  together  the  folds  of  a  wrapper 
with  one  hand.  After  the  first  moment  of  suspicious 
scrutiny,  she  threw  open  the  door  and  smiled  rapidly. 

"  I  guess  you're  Jack,"  she  said,  laughing  at  the  young 
man's  astonishment.  "Come  right  in.  Steve's  gone 
round  the  corner  to  get  a  shave,  and  he'll  be  back  directly. 
We've  been  looking  for  you  most  all  day." 

Talking  and  laughing  alternately,  she  hurried  Jack 
into  the  front  room  and  pushed  out  a  large  "  rocker  "  for 
him.  He  was  too  much  puzzled  to  reply  to  the  little  ques 
tions  she  emitted.  Mary  had  not  written  him  of  Steve's 
marriage,  and  he  was  confident  that  she  would  not  omit 
such  an  important  bit  of  family  news.  This  young  wo 
man,  on  the  other  hand,  with  her  intimate  air  of  proprie 
torship  in  the  flat  and  in  Steve  could  not  be  a  servant,  or  a 
nurse.  Possibly  she  was  the  landlady  of  the  apartment. 

She  made  many  apologies  for  her  wrapper,  which 
though  far  from  fresh,  became  her  tall  figure,  and  for 
her  rumpled  hair,  which  she  poked  nervously  without 
obtaining  any  perceptible  order  in  its  fluffy  mass.  Her 

175 


176  THE    REAL   WORLD 

^ 

volubility  declined  under  Jack's  diffidence.  She  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  lounge  opposite  him  and  crossed 
her  legs,  stretching  out  two  plump,  rather  large  hands 
over  her  knees  in  order  to  display  her  rings.  She  was 
pretty  in  spite  of  her  large  hands,  high  cheek  bones,  and 
a  defective  tooth.  Her  hair  of  a  peculiar  light  gold 
was  brushed  up  in  fluffy  waves  according  to  the  new  Paris 
mode,  which  Jack  had  seen  the  evening  before  for  the 
first  time.  There  were  evident  remains  of  powder  over 
her  plump  face,  and  deep  circles  under  the  blue  eyes, 
which  added  to  their  prettiness.  A  slight  puffiness  of 
flesh,  both  of  face  and  of  arms,  indicated  a  lack  of  exer 
cise. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  city  ?  Ever  been  here  before  ?  " 
she  repeated  more  slowly,  endeavoring  to  cover  the  bare 
arms  in  her  wrapper. 

Jack's  stumbling  answer  was  interrupted  by  the  arri 
val  of  Steve,  who  carried  a  bulky  paper  parcel.  The  two 
brothers  shook  hands  and  looked  each  other  over  with 
mutual  curiosity,  as  if  inquiring  what  changes  four  years 
had  wrought.  Steve  had  grown  noticeably  stouter,  and 
his  blond  mustache  had  thickened.  Jack's  memories  of 
his  older  brother  had  softened  during  their  separation  ; 
he  was  not  prepared  for  this  rather  loudly  dressed,  hand 
some  but  sensual  young  clerk.  The  years  at  Cambridge 
had  accustomed  him  to  a  different  type. 

"  You're  looking  better  than  I  expected  to  find  you," 
Jack  said  first.  "  Mary  wrote  yon  were  sick." 

"  Stella  has  nursed  me  fine,"  Steve  replied,  jerking  his 
head  in  the  direction  of  the  young  woman.  "  Have  you 


THE   REAL   WOULD  177 

introduced  yourself  ?  "  he  added.  And  in  spite  of  Stella's 
giggling  response,  "I  guess  we  made  out  to  pass  the 
time  of  day,"  Steve  pronounced  the  proper  formula: 
"  Make  you  acquainted  with  Miss  Seymour,  my  brother 
John."  Stella  and  Jack  shook  hands,  and  Stella  said 
briskly,  "Be  pleased  to  know  you  better,  Mr.  Pember- 
ton." 

After  a  moment's  embarrassed  silence,  she  remarked :  — 

"  Yes,  your  brother's  been  real  bad.  He'd  be  all  right, 
if  he  behaved  half  decent,  wouldn't  you,  Steve  ?  " 

Then  perceiving  the  bundle,  she  seized  upon  it  with 
hilarity. 

"  Got  anything  good  there  ?  I  hope  you  brought  along 
some  cr&me  de  menthe.  I  don't  like  your  horrid  whiskey." 

She  jumped  up  from  the  lounge  and  whisked  across 
the  room  to  a  tiny  secretary,  which  contained  various  bot 
tles,  and  noisily  rattled  them  about.  Then  she  whisked 
into  the  inner  room,  to  wash  some  glasses,  her  stride 
bringing  out  the  rustle  of  a  silk  skirt  beneath  the  wrap 
per. 

"  Stella's  been  real  nice,"  Steve  observed,  when  she 
was  out  of  the  room,  as  if  to  break  up  Jack's  shyness. 

"What's  that  he's  saying  'bout  me?"  Stella  called 
from  the  inner  room.  "I  wouldn't  trust  your  brother 
'round  the  door,  he's  so  smooth  with  the  ladies." 

She  burst  into  a  trill  of  laughter  and  opened  her  eyes 
full  upon  Jack  as  she  reappeared,  holding  the  glasses  at 
arm's  length  by  their  stems.  Her  pose  reminded  Jack 
of  one  of  the  soubrettes  Stevenson  and  he  had  admired 
from  the  gallery  of  the  theatre.  Only  all  her  acts,  in  this 


178  THE   REAL   WOELD 

tiny  apartment,  were  emphasized  and  coarsened,  as  is  a 
photograph  when  drawn  rapidly  toward  the  eyes. 

"  Have  a  drink  ? "  she  asked  cheerily,  flourishing  a 
bottle  over  her  shoulder.  "I  don't  like  to  see  ladies 
drinkin'  whiskey,  do  you  ? "  she  added,  peering  confi 
dently  into  Jack's  face  and  opening  her  lips  in  a  rapid 
smile.  "It  looks  tough,  I  say;  most  of  the  girls  do, 
though." 

Tongue-tied  Jack  felt  like  a  fool. 

"  A  little  cordial,  or  wine,  or  a  nice  tintsy,  wintsy  cock 
tail  now  ?  "  She  raised  the  glass  in  a  theatrical  sweep, 
and  with  a  "  To  our  better  acquaintance,"  drank  it  off. 

Then  she  offered  Jack  a  cigarette  and  lit  one.  Throw 
ing  herself  into  a  lounging  chair,  she  inhaled  a  long  puff 
of  smoke,  letting  it  filter  through  her  nostrils,  closing 
her  eyes  in  dream.  In  a  moment  she  was  up  again, 
whisking  in  and  out,  walking  with  the  soubrette  swagger 
and  sweep.  Jack  could  not  talk.  Even  when  she  was 
out  of  the  room,  he  could  not  bring  his  eyes  to  rest 
easily  on  his  brother.  The  girl  made  an  uncomfortable 
consciousness  between  them  of  something  not  to  be 
mentioned. 

A  slatternly  servant  came  in  from  somewhere  at  this 
point,  and  with  Stella's  assistance  prepared  dinner. 
When  Stella  was  removed,  the  embarrassment  between 
the  brothers  increased  rather  than  lessened.  The  woman 
rose  between  them  as  something  that  could  not  be  dis 
cussed.  In  an  effort  to  regain  his  assurance,  Steve  began 
to  talk  about  the  family.  Had  Jack  been  to  Coffin's 
Falls  to  see  them?  On  Jack's  shaking  his  head,  the 


THE   BEAL   WORLD  179 

older  brother  had  his  chance  to  deliver  a  little  lecture 
on  family  feeling,  which  put  him  in  a  comfortable  posi 
tion  of  superiority  once  more :  — 

"Mother's  poorly,"  he  ended.  "And  when  she's  gone, 
you'll  know  what  you  missed  and  what  you  haven't  done. 
Mary's  grown  to  be  quite  a  girl." 

Then  he  talked  about  his  business  —  he  was  salesman 
in  an  iron  foundry  business  —  and  asked  Jack  about 
Harvard,  commenting :  — 

"I've  never  seen  anything  but  fooling  among  college 
boys.  All  they  go  there  for,  I  guess,  is  to  have  a  good 
time,  easy,  for  four  years." 

He  shared  the  universal  belief  of  his  class  in  the 
inutility  of  the  higher  education. 

So  it  was  a  relief  to  sit  down  to  dinner  with  Miss 
Seymour,  who  had  exchanged  the  wrapper  for  a  bright 
lavender  silk  skirt  and  white  waist  which  made  her 
seem  larger  and  more  buoyant  than  ever.  She  was 
good-natured  and  full  of  lively  spirits.  Jack  forgot  his 
embarrassment,  and  enjoyed  her  little  worldly  airs,  her 
vivacity  and  slang. 

"  You're  going  to  take  me  to  the  show,"  she  announced 
at  dessert.  "Old  Lou  gave  me  tickets  when  I  went  to 
strike  him  for  a  job  yesterday.  Mamie  Holabird  is  in 
it." 

Steve  made  no  objections,  and  after  Stella  had  cautioned 
her  invalid  jocularly  not  to  make  a  night  of  it  with  some 
oftier  lady,  the  two  took  the  elevated  train  for  the  city. 
In  the  car,  which  was  well  filled  with  men  and  women  on 
their  way  to  the  theatres,  Stella  attracted  attention  less 


180  THE   REAL   WORLD 

by  her  dress  than  by  her  manner  and  her  abundant  laugh. 
Ja.ck  was  uncomfortably  conscious  that  he  and  his  com 
panion  were  of  vivid  interest  to  fifteen  or  twenty  dull 
persons. 

At  first  Stella's  habit  of  looking  very  intently  into  his 
face,  coyly  closing  her  eyes  only  to  open  them  full  upon 
him,  disturbed  him,  but  when  he  realized  that  this  was 
but  a  trick,  probably  caught  at  the  theatre,  and  did  not 
mean  flirtation,  he  did  not  mind  it.  Indeed,  beneath 
the  superficial  surface  of  dress  and  manner,  Stella  was  a 
city  relative  of  Sadie  or  Ruth  of  Peinberton  Neck.  She 
had  her  own  standards  of  propriety  and  decency,  and 
rather  obtrusively  paraded  these  and  her  honest  thoughts. 
She  seemed  to  comprehend  Jack  far  better  than  did  his 
brother,  and  tried  to  suppress  what  might  appear  to  him 
irregular  and  give  him  the  belief  that  she  was  not  quite 
nice,  —  "like  a  lady,"  as  she  would  say.  She  would 
have  considered  it  quite  abominable  to  flirt  with  him  or 
treat  him  as  a  gallant. 

The  play  was  a  popular  society  comedy,  something 
vulgarized  from  the  French  by  a  coarse  English  adapter. 
Stella  had  a  keen  eye  for  the  gowns  and  the  decorative 
elements  of  the  scene. 

"  Are  you  on  the  stage  ?  "  Jack  asked  after  the  curtain 
went  down. 

"  I'm  not  regularly  connected,"  Stella  answered.  "  Last 
season  I  was  on  the  road,  but  the  manager  went  broke." 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  They  don't  pay  nothin',  and  when  a  girl  wants  her 
fling  they  fire  her." 


THE   REAL   WORLD  181 

Later  she  told  him  that  she  was  expecting  to  get  a 
place  with  this  company,  that  she  was  negotiating  with 
the  manager.  At  the  close  of  the  next  act  she  asked 
about  Harvard,  and  about  the  Maine  country. 

"I'd  like  to  get  into  the  country  some  summer,"  she 
added.  "A  feller  —  a  friend  of  mine  —  was  going  to 
take  some  of  us  girls  down  to  a  cottage  on  the  shore,  but 
I  guess  he  went  broke.  I  spent  a  week  two  summers  ago 
up  on  a  farm  in  Vermont.  They  were  real  nice  folks, 
and,  my !  it  was  a  rest." 

They  had  established  a  good  human  understanding, 
and  the  girl,  who  had  all  the  narrow  egotism,  the  child 
ishness,  of  her  class,  told  him  about  her  career.  She  had 
been  born  in  a  little  stuffy  side  street  of  Brooklyn,  and 
almost  from  the  cradle  her  joys  had  been  candy,  "fellers," 
and  the  theatre.  After  she  left  school  at  fourteen,  she  had 
tried  working  in  a  store.  There  she  had  her  love  affair, 
which  she  talked  about  with  great  freedom,  as  of  some 
rather  distinguishing  experience,  like  religion  or  great 
worldly  success.  It  had  an  unfortunate  termination.  And 
then  had  come  the  old  cravings  for  pleasure,  for  candy 
and  "  fellers  "  and  clothes  and  champagne  and  the  theatre. 

"  My  folks  are  real  good,"  she  ended,  rather  boastfully. 
"  And  they  think  I'm  working  at  a  big  salary.  I  go  to 
see  'em  every  now  and  then,  when  I've  got  any  pennies, 
and  take  'em  something.  My  sister  is  married  to  a  fine 
gentleman  out  in  Buffalo." 

The  pitiful  effort  to  impress  him  touched  the  young 
man.  If  it  were  not  for  her  connection  with  Steve,  he 
could  have  been  honestly  friendly  with  her.  But  all  the 


182  THE   REAL   WOULD 

instincts  of  his  life  made  it  impossible  easily  to  overlook 
that  irregular  relation. 

"  You  ain't  a  bit  like  Steve,"  Stella  observed  at  last. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Jack  inquired,  with  curiosity. 

"  Oh !  your  brother  is  a  bad  boy,"  she  laughed  back. 
"  You're  nice  and  pleasant  and  friendly.  I  hate  those 
loud  ways  all  the  time." 

Her  face  clouded  in  the  pathetic  desire  for  repose  of 
the  tired  creature. 

As  they  emerged  from  the  theatre,  Stella  discovered  a 
friend  in  the  crowded  foyer,  a  tall  girl  with  a  sweeping 
"  picture  "  hat  that  became  her  well. 

"  Isn't  this  just  luck !  There's  Liddy,  and  we'll  go 
out  to  Biron's  over  on  Broadway  and  have  a  bite." 

The  introductions  were  made,  rather  loudly;  Jack 
noticed  that  some  of  the  people  who  were  waiting  for 
their  carriages  turned  and  looked  at  them.  His  compan 
ions  were  richly  dressed,  not  unlike  the  innumerable 
photographs  of  actresses  that  were  set  about  the  foyer 
on  little  easels.  Stella  and  Liddy  were  of  the  theatre, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that,  even  if  they  were  at  the 
bottom  of  the  "  profession." 

As  they  left  the  theatre,  Stella  brushed  close  to  one  of 
the  women  who  was  waiting  for  a  carriage.  Jack  recog 
nized  Miss  Mather  and  prepared  to  bow,  but  she  turned 
her  face  blankly  in  another  direction,  leaving  him  with 
the  unpleasant  sensation  of  having  been  observed  and 
not  seen. 

In  the  basement  cafe,  glittering  with  the  reflection  of 
electric  lights  upon,  marble,  there  were  many  little  theatre 


THE  HEAL   WORLD  183 

parties.  Jack's  companions  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  debating  loudly  what  table  to  select.  They  flung 
themselves  into  their  chairs  with  dramatic  abandon,  and 
unbuttoned  their  light  coats,  negligently  looking  over 
the  assembled  company.  At  the  other  tables  there  were 
some  women  like  Stella  and  Liddy,  and  more  that  gazed 
offishly  and  curiously  at.  them. 

"  Have  you  any  change,  Liddy  ? "  Stella  asked  play 
fully.  Liddy  displayed  a  little  gold-mesh  purse,  from 
which  she  drew  ten  cents. 

"  That  for  car-fare  to-morrow." 

The  girls  giggled  and  made  much  of  the  topic.  Finally 
they  ordered  their  supper,  an  expensive  one  Jack  thought 
when  he  came  to  pay  the  bill,  but  he  little  knew  what 
Stella's  kindness  had  saved  him  from.  For  Liddy  dis 
played  the  insatiable  greed  of  the  courtesan  who  sees  her 
chance.  Jack  noticed  that  Stella  touched  her  companion 
with  her  foot  beneath  the  table,  signalling  her  in  some 
way.  The  order  given,  Liddy  turned  her  languishing 
eyes  upon  Jack.  They  had  the  same  deep  circles  that 
he  had  first  noticed  in  Stella.  Her  manner  was  more 
composed;  she  was  evidently  more  experienced  than 
Stella. 

"  Do  you  know  Frank  Mason  ?  "  she  asked  Jack,  when 
she  had  learned  from  Stella  that  he  was  at  college. 
"  He's  a  great  friend  of  mine  —  Mr.  Mason." 
__  Jack  started  at  the  sound  of  the  name.  He  did  not 
care  to  press  the  subject,  however.  The  recklessness 
of  the  girls  rose  with  the  wine  they  drank.  They  lopped 
more  carelessly  over  the  table,  and  Liddy  dropped  her 


184  THE   REAL    WORLD 

arm  caressingly  on  Jack's  arm.  They  smoked,  one 
cigarette  after  another.  The  other  women  —  those  that 
had  stayed  on  —  were  also  smoking,  and  over  in  a 
corner  a  rather  boisterous  straggle  was  in  progress  be 
tween  a  man  in  evening  dress  and  a  stout  young  Jewess. 

At  twelve  they  were  on  the  deserted  street,  walking  in 
the  direction  of  Liddy's  room,  which  was  near  by.  Stella 
spoke  of  spending  the  night  there.  Liddy  was  hanging 
on  Jack's  arm,  her  plumed  hat  brushing  against  his  face. 
She  was  talking  more  rapidly  now,  and  in  a  pleasant, 
rather  southern  voice.  When  they  stopped  before  a 
dark  house  in  the  cross-street,  and  he  let  Liddy's  arm 
fall,  Stella  exclaimed : 

"  You  ain't  goin'.  Come  in  and  have  somethin'  on 
Liddy.  Then  you  can  take  me  up  Harlem  way  to 
Steve's." 

Jack,  who  was  disposed  to  accept  the  suggestion  un 
suspiciously,  disliked  the  plain  reference  to  her  relation 
with  Steve. 

"  Come  in,"  Liddy  urged.  "  Stella  can  have  Mame's 
room,  I  know  —  it's  too  late  to  go  way  up  town.  I  don't 
see  why  Mr.  Pemberton  lives  off  there  at  land's  end  !  " 

Then  Jack  started  to  mount  the  long  brown  steps, 
not  knowing  how  to  refuse,  and  on  the  whole  quite 
willing  to  carry  out  the  adventure  of  the  day.  Liddy 
took  his  arm. 

"  Course  you're  coming  right  in  ! "  Liddy  urged,  wink 
ing  at  Stella. 

Down  the  street,  several  doors  away,  a  cab  had  driven 
up,  and  from  it  emerged  the  man  they  had  seen  with  the 


THE  REAL   WORLD  185 

Jewess  in  the  restaurant,  and  after  him  the  woman  her 
self.  His  silk  hat  was  tipped  forward  on  his  head,  and 
he  looked  stupidly  at  the  cabman,  then  at  the  woman. 
His  companion  seized  his  arm  and  thrust  her  hand  into 
his  watch  pocket,  taking  thence  some  bills,  one  of  which 
she  handed  to  the  driver.  The  man  laughed  foolishly ; 
the  couple  turned  to  mount  the  steps. 

A  sudden  wave  of  contempt,  of  instinctive  repugnance 
at  the  aspects  of  debauch,  surged  over  Jack,  who  had 
caught  the  scene  at  a  glance. 

"  Good  night,"  lie  exclaimed  abruptly,  and  slid  his  arm 
from  Liddy's  grasp.  As  he  walked  up  the  street  toward 
Broadway,  he  could  easily  hear  the  exclamations,  and 
then  the  laughter,  of  the  two  girls. 

"He's  too  green  anyway,"  was  the  last  intelligible 
remark  that  reached  his  ears,  followed  by  a  high-pitched 
laugh. 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  before  he  blamed  himself 
for  his  rough  manner,  and  concluded  that  he  ought  to 
have  stayed  and  conducted  Stella  back  to  Harlem.  But 
the  girls  had  entered  the  house,  and  in  the  uniform  row 
of  brown  steps  he  could  not  make  out  which  house  was 
Liddy's  lodging-place.  So  he  continued  his  walk  in  the 
soft  April  night,  with  a  refreshing  sense  of  relief  from 
the  clatter  of  the  two  girls. 

There  was  no  very  definite  feeling  of  virtue  in  his 
breast.  Though  he  had  seen  enough  vice  in  the  New 
England  places  where  he  had  lived,  —  vice  of  a  dull, 
animal  kind  that  reeks  in  New  England  towns  in  spite 
of  conventional  restraints,  —  he  had  never  touched  the 


186  THE  REAL  WORLD 

world  at  that  spot.  He  did  not  have  enough  experience 
to  be  priggish.  As  he  thought  of  Stella,  with  her  airs, 
her  gayety,  her  childish  narrowness  of  the  pavement- 
bred,  he  liked  her,  and  had  it  not  been  for  Steve  he 
should  have  liked  to  see  her  again.  That  relation  with 
Steve  filled  him  with  a  quick  sense  of  shame.  He  did 
not  know  how  to  behave  with  her.  She  was  not  Steve's 
wife ;  she  was  not  his  own  sister ;  she  was  not  a  girl  to 
be  played  with.  And  in  Stella's  nervous  movements 
about  the  Harlem  flat  there  had  been  a  certain  extra 
bravado,  an  air  of  saying,  — "  I've  no  business  here,  I 
suppose  you're  thinking.  But  I  don't  care  what  you 
think,  you  prude !  " 

It  was  the  pitiful  air  of  self-defence  of  the  woman 
used  as  an  animal.  It  sickened  him,  and  he  had  a  vivid 
sense  of  shame  before  the  woman,  as  if  he  were  observ 
ing  intimacies  that  he  had  no  right  to  observe.  Steve 
was  a  fool  and  a  brute. 

As  he  walked  up  the  deserted  avenue,  glad  to  walk  in 
the  silent  city,  careless  where  he  should  sleep,  he  remem 
bered  Aunt  Julia's  tale  of  the  Pemberton  excesses,  the 
village  debaucheries  of  many  of  his  people.  So  this  was 
what  it  meant.  The  eternal  itch  for  pleasure,  for  relief 
from  the  burden  of  dull  living,  stung  each  generation. 
The  thought  made  him  heavy-hearted.  Late  diners  were 
coming  out  of  the  fashionable  restaurants  on  the  avenue, 
and  entering  the  waiting  carriages.  This  part  of  the 
city  was  the  great  field  where  seethed,  night  after  night, 
the  passion  for  pleasure. 

Did  Steve  give  way  to  the  common  craving  in  a  desire 


THE   REAL  WORLD  187 

to  find  something  real,  some  experience  that  would  bite 
the  consciousness  either  painfully  or  pleasantly  ?  Was 
Steve  tormented  by  the  same  longing  he  had  had  to 
find  the  real,  to  escape  the  indifferent  shades  of  mere 
appearance  ? 

He  wandered  far  into  the  morning  hours,  —  his  pulses 
beating  hard  against  the  moist  skin  of  his  neck  and 
hands,  his  brain  tumultuous  with  longings  and  wonder. 
He  himself  had  not  been  far  from  Liddy's  facile  door ! 
Pleasure,  self-abandonment,  the  debauch,  —  poor  human 
souls  flung  themselves  upon  that  empty  void,  the  ghostly 
simulacrum  of  this  our  life,  granted  by  God  in  pitiful 
measure,  —  flung  themselves  in  inarticulate  longing  for 
the  world  of  reality,  of  which  their  dreams  were  but 
the  shadows  on  the  curtain. 

"  Steve's  just  stepped  out.  Come  in  and  make  your 
self  easy." 

Jack  came  in  to  wait  for  Steve.  He  reproached  him 
self  for  not  having  seen  more  of  his  brother,  while  he  was 
in  New  York.  Stella  was  lolling  by  the  window  in  a 
rather  dirty  kimono  and  broken  red  slippers.  Steve's 
establishment  was  distinctly  in  undress  this  evening, 
as  if  the  occupants  were  recovering  from  some  excessive 
excitement.  There  was  an  odor  of  scent  in  the  room 
battling  with  the  fumes  of  stale  cocktails  and  tobacco. 
Stella  seemed  heavy  and  lethargic.  She  tightened  the 
folds  of  her  kimono  and  put  her  hands  to  her  hair  in  an 
endeavor  to  tidy  the  mass. 

"You  ran  away  the  other  evening,"  she  remarked  in 


188  THE   REAL   WORLD 

petulant  tones.  "  Didn't  you  like  Liddy  ?  Most  gentle 
men  think  she's  quite  a  peach.  And  she  was  awful  cut 
up  by  your  acting  that  way.  Don't  you  like  girls  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Jack  answered  slowly.     "  I  guess  I  like  girls." 

"Well,  Steve  thought  it  was  a  fine  joke  —  he'll  tease 
you  right  well  when  he  comes  in.  My,  how  hot  it  is  ! 
And  only  May.  My  head  aches  awful  bad,  back  here," 
—  she  pointed  to  the  exact  spot.  "  Steve's  gone  to  get 
something  to  help  it.  We've  been  out  to  the  races  all 
day." 

She  wandered  on,  not  caring  for  more  response  than 
an  interjection  now  and  then.  She  poured  out  a  cord 
ial  and  handed  a  glass  to  Jack ;  then  she  lit  a  cigarette, 
and  threw  her  head  far  back.  The  cordial  and  the 
tobacco  seemed  to  soothe  her  nerves  for  a  few  moments, 
and  carry  her  away  in  a  dream. 

"I  guess,"  she  mused,  "you  don't  like  girls  like  me 
and  Liddy.  You  think  we're  real  wicked,  don't  you  ? 
But  there's  lots  worse  than  us,  and  those  that  hold  their 
heads  high  and  mighty,  too." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  wicked,"  Jack  replied  stupidly, 
"and  I  like  you." 

"  You're  sorry  for  me  ?  "  she  asked  quickly,  looking  at 
him. 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  he  said  honestly. 

"  Well,"  she  threw  herself  back  in  the  chair  again  with 
a  sigh,  "I  like  you  —  you're  nice  and  refined,  more'n 
Steve.  But  you  wouldn't  have  nothing  to  do  with  me ! " 

Her  face  expressed  the  doubt  and  wistfulness  of  the 
flabby  creature  who  touches  a  harder  fibre  than  hers. 


THE   REAL  WORLD  189 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  it ! "  Jack  exclaimed. 

"  Why  not  ?  I  want  to  talk  about  it — what's  the  diff, 
anyway  ?  I'm  not  going  to  turn  cry-baby  now,  you  can 
bet.  When  I  was  in  trouble  two  years  ago,  I  swore  I'd 
go  straight,  keep  out  of  trouble ;  but  you  know  —  I  guess 
I  don't  want  to  be  much  different,  anyway." 

She  went  to  the  piano  and  began  to  play  vehemently  a 
waltz  of  the  Broadway  pavement,  until  the  perspiration 
started  from  her  temples. 

"  My  !  my  head  aches.  Why  don't  Steve  come ! "  She 
wheeled  around  once  more  to  face  Jack.  "  Do  you  feel 
sweet  on  that  girl  —  the  one  in  the  park  you  were  with  ? 
I  saw  you  the  other  morning." 

Jack  frowned,  but  in  an  instant  his  first  impulse  of 
reticence  seemed  to  him  absurd,  conventional. 

"  Yes,  but  she  is  to  marry  another  man." 

"  Oh,  well,  a  feller  of  your  years  don't  want  to  be  tied 
up  with  a  wife  and  children.  You'd  better  come  to  New 
York  and  see  something  of  life  —  that's  what  Steve  wants 
you  to  do." 

The  young  man  smiled  at  the  irony  of  the  idea.  He 
had  lived  a  year  or  two  in  the  few  days  that  he  had  been 
in  New  York,  and  he  did  not  believe  that  Stella  or  Liddy 
would  give  him  more  experience  of  life  than  he  had  al 
ready  won  by  following  the  ordinary  path.  Already  the 
habits  of  these  people  bored  him.  The  cheap  scent,  the 
odor  of  liquor  and  cigarettes,  the  theatre,  the  flabby  vo 
luptuous  woman's  flesh,  —  it  was  a  vulgar  little  round, 
less  interesting  than  the  shining  prizes  that  Elsie  panted 
for.  One  and  all  they  thirsted  for  thrills  that  were  always 


190  THE    REAL   WORLD 

denied  in  full  measure  —  something  told  him  that  always 
would  be  denied,  let  the  human  nerves  throb  as  they 
might. 

"  I  may  come  to  New  York  some  day,"  he  admitted. 
"  Play  me  something." 

She  played  a  sentimental  song  about  a  woman  and  her 
child,  and  sang  the  refrain  in  the  vaudeville  twang.  Her 
face  responded  to  the  empty  sentiment  of  the  song. 

"  Say,"  she  broke  in,  looking  up  at  him  with  the  dumb 
appeal  of  the  burdened  animal,  "  do  you  think  the  folks 
that  are  good  —  I  mean  really  good,  no  seeming  —  are 
happy,  —  any  happier  than  we  are  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  sadly.  "  I  suppose  so  — 
they  wouldn't  struggle  so  —  " 

"  If  I  had  married  a  feller,  good  to  me,  like  you  could 
be !  I  like  babies,  —  most  girls  don't,  but  I  like  babies ! " 
And  she  repeated  the  phrase  until  it  sounded  shrill  and 
foolish :  "  I  like  babies,  —  yes,  I  like  babies." 

Then  Steve  came  in,  boisterous,  with  the  swagger  and 
assurance  of  recovered  health,  and  inclined  to  tease  his 
brother.  But  Stella,  whose  sentimental  mood  remained, 
put  a  period  to  Steve's  attacks ;  and  they  sat  about  the 
stuffy  flat,  at  a  loss  for  topics  of  common  interest  for 
conversation,  exchanging  desultory  remarks  about  the 
races,  the  weather,  and  the  properties  of  mixed  drink. 
Finally  it  came  time  for  Jack  to  leave,  in  order  to  take 
the  train  for  Boston.  While  Steve  hunted  for  his  hat, 
Stella  and  Jack  had  a  few  words  together. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  see  you  the  next  time  I  come,"  Jack 
said  quite  honestly. 


THE  REAL  WORLD  191 

"As  like  as  not  you'll  not"  Stella  replied  glumly, 
"unless  you  come  mighty  quick."  Then,  to  explain, 
she  added,  "Steve  ain't  the  man  to  care  long  for  any 
thing,  not  even  a  dog." 

"  I'm  glad  I  did  see  you,"  Jack  said  awkwardly. 

"Are  you?  So'm  I  —  real  glad,"  and  they  shook 
hands  with  smiles. 

Yet  he  thought  that  it  would  be  a  relief  to  her  to  have 
him  gone,  to  be  able  to  sink  back  in  the  crease  of  habit 
without  useless  longings  and  unaccustomed  ideas.  As 
for  himself,  he  was  genuinely  attracted  by  her,  feeling 
beneath  her  boisterous  vulgarity  the  simple  humanity 
so  often  missed  in  more  complex  souls. 

On  the  street  Steve  asked  abruptly  :  — 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  when  you're  done  with 
college  ?  " 

"  Law." 

"When  you're  fifty,  maybe  you  can  buy  yourself  a 
cigar  on  Sundays,  —  unless  you're  sharper  than  you 
look,"  the  older  brother  remarked  sententiously.  "I 
know  a  dozen  lawyers  who  can't  skin  twenty  dollars  a 
week." 

"You  say  mother  is  poorly,"  Jack  remarked  to  lead 
the  conversation  back  to  common  grounds. 

"  She  and  Mary  don't  like  Coffin's  Falls.  I  guess 
Uncle  Talbot  is  tired  of  having  them  around.  He  wrote 
me  a  long  preachy  letter  about  giving  them  a  home. 
They  don't  know  up  in  Coffin's  Falls  what  it  costs  to 
live  —  on  a  salary.  I  was  making  money  before  last 
January,  but  I  went  and  blew  it  in  wrong  on  the  market, 


192  THE   REAL  WORLD 

and  some  that  wasn't  mine,  and  the  end  was  I  had  to 
take  this  job  with  Bradshaw  &  Gushing.  And  there  are 
no  extras  there ! " 

"Perhaps  we  could  manage  it,  together,"  Jack  sug 
gested  doubtfully. 

"  Oh !  later,"  Steve  assented  vaguely. 

The  occupants  of  the  close  little  flats  in  the  neighbor 
hood  were  thronging  the  street  through  which  they  were 
passing  to  the  Harlem  station.  Many  of  the  women, 
Jack  judged,  were  like  Stella,  tenants  at  will  in  some 
irregular  establishment.  They  had  an  American  stylish 
ness,  a  certain  gloss  that  made  them  out  finer  than  they 
were.  Oppressed  by  the  unseasonable  heat,  they  were 
sauntering  to  and  fro  in  couples,  throwing  curious  li 
censed  glances  about  at  the  other  promenaders,  especially 
at  the' two  men  who  passed  in  solitary  distinction. 

"  Why  don't  you  marry,  Steve  ?  "  Jack  asked  after  a 
period  of  silence. 

"  What  do  I  want  of  a  woman  tied  with  a  halter  to  my 
neck ! "  Steve  retorted  irritably,  and  added  a  popular 
economic  apothegm. 

"  I  mean  marry  Stella,"  his  brother  continued. 

"  What ! "  Steve  ejaculated,  stopping  short  in  his 
amazement.  "  You're  more  of  a  jackass  than  I  thought 
you  were." 

"  She's  a  pretty  good  girl,"  Jack  continued  imperturb- 
ably.  "  I  think  she  would  like  to  be  married,  and  —  and 
live  differently." 

"  I  rather  guess  she  would  ! "  Steve  chuckled.  "  What 
do  you  take  me  for  ?  " 


THE   REAL   WOULD  193 

"  It  seems  hard,"  Jack  explained,  with  infinite  trouble 
in  expressing  himself  before  this  scorn.  "  They  —  she 
and  Liddy,  have  the  look  of  whipped  dogs,  really  —  and 
she  would  be  happy  —  more  than  you  or  I  know  —  if  she 
were  married  to  a  man  who  would  be  a  bit  kind  to  her  — 
poor  girl ! " 

"  Is  that  what  you  learn  at  Harvard  ? "  Steve  de 
manded  ironically. 

"No,"  Jack  replied  simply,  with  the  conviction  that 
he  was  a  fool.  "  It  just  occurred  to  me,  seeing  her  there 
with  you." 

"It's  time  you  saw  something  of  the  world,"  Steve 
commented  patronizingly.  "  You're  too  green." 

They  shook  hands  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  that  led  to 
the  station.  From  the  elevated  platform  Jack  watched 
the  streaming  lines  of  men  and  women,  moving  restlessly 
up  and  down  the  streets  for  the  sake  of  air  and  excite 
ment.  The  great  city  lay  undulating  like  the  sheen  of 
a  rich  garment,  with  the  spangles  of  its  enormous  build 
ings,  flowing  over  valley  and  height,  outlined  by  the 
piercing  dots  of  light  from  the  arc-lamps.  Men  and 
women,  —  seekers  for  pleasure,  toilers  for  pleasure, — 
a  multitude  of  hearts  longing  for  the  visions  that  denied 
themselves  .  .  . 

And  in  the  strange,  tidal  motion  of  man's  soul,  there 
flooded  into  his  crowded  thoughts  this  one  vague  concep 
tion, —  that  to  possess  the  ultimate  vision  of  things  he 
must  forego  the  alleviations  to  pain  proffered  by  his  clam 
orous  senses.  Steve  and  Stella  and  Liddy  —  Mather  and 
Elsie  and  Bushy  —  and  the  countless  other  thousands  of 


194  THE   REAL  WORLD 

their. kind  —  played  with  the  phantoms  of  a  world,  and 
called  it  real.  In  one  embrace  or  another  they  spent 
their  bodies  and  souls,  and  with  each  pang  of  the  striv 
ing  nerves  they  lost  the  power  to  possess.  And  the 
temptation  his  uncle  and  aunt  had  feared  for  him,  the 
brutal  thirst  of  sex,  seemed  far  away  and  impossible. 

The  rage  that  might  spend  itself  thus  in  drops, 
dammed  and  pent  within,  would  some  day  create  the 
other  world !  Beneath  his  sleepless  head  that  night,  the 
car-wheels  beat  the  burden  of  this  new  song :  "  Live  and 
love,  and  desire  and  deny,  for  in  the  end  ye  shall  conquer 
and  know  peace." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  steamer  poked  its  way  cautiously  up  the  tortuous 
channel  to  the  new  wharf  near  the  hotel.  Jack  stood 
with  Stevenson  on  the  upper  deck,  beneath  the  pilot-house, 
and  in  the  rifts  of  the  fog  pointed  out  to  his  companion 
the  landmarks  of  Pemberton  Neck.  The  new  cottages, 
which  thrust  their  unfamiliar  roofs  through  the  dark  firs, 
were  much  larger  than  the  old,  weather-stained  ones. 

"  Grow'd  consider'ble,"  the  old  pilot  remarked,  leaning 
sociably  out  of  his  window.  "  There's  the  latest  addition 

—  that  palace  there  atop  of  High  Head,  round  Maxwell 
Point.     They  say  the  road  up  there  over  the  Point  cost 
more'n  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  the  stables  —  them's 
the  roofs  you  see  —  be  as  good  as  a  hotel.    That  Gushing 

—  you  remember  him,  the  feller  that  owned  the  Eyrie  — 
built  it,  begun  two  years  ago  in  September.     They  say 
he's  worth  a  number  of  millions  —  made  it  in  steel." 

"  So  that's  the  Gushing  place ! "  Jack  exclaimed,  follow 
ing  the  irregular  outline  of  roofs  with  an  interested  eye. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  pilot  resumed.  "  And  there  ain't  a  more 
costly  house  on  the  shore.  Pemberton  Neck's  looking  up 

—  Bar  Harbor'll  have  to  hustle  to  keep  in  the  procession 
soon!    And  it  weren't  much  of  a  place  before  Gushing 
began  his  house.     There  are  them  up  here  who  don't  look 
kindly  on  rich  fellers  coming  in  with  their  horses  and  ker- 

195 


196  THE   REAL   WORLD 

ridges,  raisin'  the  prices  of  their  dod-blasted  old  stone 
quarries.  Your  Uncle  John's  one  of  them  kind !  But  I 
guess  your  cousin  feels  different  —  he  made  a  fortune." 

According  to  the  pilot's  account,  the  majority  of  the 
natives  regarded  Edward  Price  Gushing  as  a  philanthro 
pist,  who  had  turned  a  part  of  the  golden  stream  which 
had  been  fertilizing  Mt.  Desert,  Newport,  and  other  well- 
known  spots  to  their  deserving  village.  No  matter  what 
his  associates  might  have  to  say  about  the  unscrupulous- 
iiess  of  the  steel  and  iron  manufacturer,  no  matter  how 
frequent  or  how  bitter  were  the  strikes  in  his  Ohio  mills, 
the  progressive  residents  of  Pemberton  Neck  honored  the 
owner  of  High  Head.  The  reactionaries,  such  as  Uncle 
John,  had  only  feeble  and  vague  arguments  with  which 
to  combat  the  potent  testimony  of  dollars  scattered  loosely 
over  the  country. 

"  Your  Uncle  John,"  explained  the  pilot, "  undertakes  to 
tell  how  folks  would  be  better  off  without  sellin'  their 
land,  just  scratchin'  round  on  it  as  their  fathers  did.  He 
says  it  costs  more  to  live,  and  it  don't  make  no  differ 
ence  how  much  you  pour  into  the  barrel  so  long  as  you 
draw  out  jest  as  much.  But  your  Uncle  John  ain't  sold 
his  farm  yet ! " 

"  Seems  to  be  the  same  old  row  between  the  two  schools 
of  political  economy,"  Stevenson  observed. 

"  And  you  take  sides  according  to  the  same  old  law," 
his  companion  added. 

The  boat  backed  into  the  clock,  which  was  crowded  with 
smart  traps  with  men  in  livery. 

The  hotel,  whither  Jack   conducted   Stevenson,   was 


THE   REAL  WORLD  197 

scarcely  recognizable ;  it  had  taken  to  itself  various  gawky 
children  in  the  shape  of  wings,  and  it  was  surrounded  by 
a  further  offspring  of  cottages.  Yet  the  broad  verandas, 
where,  as  Jack  remembered,  the  young  men  and  women 
tramped  and  flirted  while  the  mammas  sat  in  innumer 
able  wicker  chairs,  seemed  deserted  and  forlorn.  Pem- 
berton  Neck  had  advanced  beyond  the  rank  of  a  hotel 
resort. 

In  the  evening,  when  Jack  walked  over  to  his  uncle's 
farm,  the  road  among  the  black  firs  was  brilliant  with 
electric  lights.  There  were  cement  walks  and  hydrants, 
pipes  and  drains,  and  macadamized  road-beds.  From  the 
main  road  there  branched  a  multitude  of  unfamiliar  ave 
nues  leading  to  the  new  cottages.  Victorias  rolled  past 
him,  their  harnesses  jangling,  two  men  on  the  box. 
Fashion  was  exploiting  Pemberton  Neck  with  its  usual 
vivacity. 

Beyond  the  Neck  there  were  fewer  changes,  although 
some  of  the  late  comers  had  been  squeezed  out  of  the 
Point  up  the  Cove.  The  little  white  cottage,  with  its 
border  of  open  fields,  was  as  he  knew  it.  Uncle  John  was 
dozing,  his  slippers  off  beside  the  base-burner,  and  Aunt 
Julia  was  reading  the  Bangor  Times.  They  seemed 
scarcely  more  immovable  than  six  years  before. 

"  John  said  you'd  come  by  train  same  as  most  of  the 
summer  folks,  but  I  thought  you'd  take  the  boat.  How 
be  you,  Jock  ? "  his  aunt  asked  placidly,  as  if  he  had 
been  away  a  week. 

"  Seed  the  improvements  ?  "  his  uncle  asked.  "  Your 
cousin's  sold  his  hotel," 


198  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"  And  the  feller  that  took  it  has  mortgaged  it.  Hotels 
don't  pay ! "  his  aunt  added. 

Jack  smiled.  This  was  their  acknowledgment  that 
they  had  been  wrong  in  urging  him  to  stick  to  Cousin 
Hadley's  hotel. 

"  So  you're  a  full-fledged  lawyer  ?  "  Uncle  John  asked, 
turning  his  wizened  head  with  its  wagging  beard  nearer 
the  light. 

They  did  not  ask  him  effusively  about  his  plans.  They 
were  waiting.  His  good  clothes,  his  general  air  of  pros 
perity,  evidently  pleased  them.  Secretly  they  were  proud 
enough,  and  Jack  knew  it.  Nothing  is  so  glorious  to  the 
New  England  farmer  as  the  legal  profession.  Promptly 
at  nine  the  old  man  gathered  up  his  slippers  and  hobbled 
to  bed.  Aunt  Julia  stayed  to  talk. 

"  There  be  lots  of  new  cottages,  Jock,"  she  remarked, 
after  a  period  of  silence.  "  The  roads  are  most  too  full 
of  hosses  and  kerridges  in  summer,  but  I  like  to  see  'em 
go  by  the  house.  Land's  higher'n  ever.  We  got  an 
offer  last  winter,  and  I  wanted  to  take  it  and  move  over 
to  Rockland,  but  your  uncle  is  sot  on  stay  in'  on  the 
farm.  Would  you  be  thinking  of  coming  here  to  settle, 
some  time  ?  There's  a  lawyer  at  the  Cove  now,  and  he 
ain't  much  of  a  lawyer,  I  guess,  but  he  makes  a  good 
living." 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  going  to  New  York  in  September." 

The  old  lady  sighed,  but  looked  at  him  with  an  approv 
ing  smile. 

«  What  put  you  up  to  that  ?  " 


THE   REAL  WORLD  199 

"I  have  meant  to  for  a  long  time,"  Jack  answered 
simply.  "And  now  I've  got  an  opening  in  a  good  office. 
It  will  be  hard  work  to  live  and  send  mother  something, 
and  I  could  get  more  out  West  with  Stevenson.  He 
wants  me  to  go  in  with  him  in  Mound  City  —  form  a 
partnership.  But  I  have  always  thought  of  going  to 
New  York  ever  since  I  thought  much  about  those 
matters." 

"  Sot  as  you  allus  was,"  his  aunt  remarked,  not  un 
graciously.  "  Seems  to  me  I  should  go  West." 

"  New  York  is  the  biggest  pool,"  Jack  observed,  with 
an  air  of  finality. 

Then  Aunt  Julia  started  a  new  topic. 

"  You  remember,  of  course,  that  Mason  girl  ?  " 

Jack  nodded,  suddenly  eager  for  news  about  Elsie 
even  from  Aunt  Julia. 

"  They've  built  that  great  place  over  yonder." 

"  So  the  pilot  told  me.     It's  huge ! " 

"  She's  a  real  nice  girl,  Jock.  I  ain't  surprised  you  were 
sweet  on  her.  I  see  her  now  once  in  a  while.  She  comes 
to  call.  My !  Ain't  she  a  talker,  —  chatter,  chatter,  and 
amusin'  as  the  day  is  long !  She  allus  asks  for  you,  what 
we've  heard  from  you,  though  I  guess  she  knows  'bout 
as  much  as  we  do.  She  was  up  here  yestiddy,  after  some 
sweet  peas  for  a  party,  and  I  told  her  we  were  expectin' 
of  you  some  time  this  month." 

Aunt  Julia  paused  there,  and  Jack  was  forced  to  ask :  — 

"And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  grew  kind  of  dumb,  and  then  she  said  she  s'posed 
you'd  let  her  know  when  you  got  here." 


200  THE   REAL   WORLD 

As  Jack  made  no  observation,  Aunt  Julia  added  in  her 
meditative  drawl :  — 

"I  doan't  make  as  much  as  some  o'  the  man  she  mar 
ried,  with  all  his  money.  A  taller-complected  feller 
with  a  sour  temper,  I  take  him  to  be,  and  I  guess  she  has 
to  pay  high  'nugh  for  her  house  and  kerridges." 

"Probably." 

"  Well,  she's  gay  and  light-hearted  as  they  make  'em. 
She  keeps  the  place  full  of  folks,  a  lot  of  men  dangling 
about,  and  she's  free  and  easy  with  'em  all,  same  as  she 
used  to  be. .  I  guess  she'll  allus  be  cheerful,  no  matter 
what  comes,  and  that's  the  best  way  a  woman  can  take  a 
husband,  be  he  good  or  bad." 

As  they  started  for  bed,  Aunt  Julia  asked  with  a  little 
note  of  trepidation  in  her  voice :  — 

"  There  ain't  been  any  gurls,  Jock  ?  " 

He  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,  Jock,  that  you'd  be  the  one 
Pemberton  to  get  safe  over  the  divide.  They're  clever 
enough,  all  your  family,  but  they're  dreadful  weak." 

Jack  smiled  more  sadly. 

« I  don't  think  it'll  take  me  that  way !  " 

Neither  the  next  day  nor  the  next  thereafter  did  Jack 
call  at  the  Cushings'  or  let  Elsie  know  of  his  arrival. 
Instead,  he  sailed  Stevenson  about  the  bay,  or  loitered 
around  the  little  cottage,  discussing  with  Uncle  John 
the  strike  in  the  Green  Hill  quarries.  He  avoided  the 
dusty  electric-lighted  roads,  but  one  evening,  as  he  was 
returning  from  the  hotel  where  he  had  left  Stevenson, 
Mrs.  Gushing  passed  him  in  a  light  buckboard.  He  had 


THE   REAL  WORLD  201 

almost  said,  "  Elsie,"  she  passed  so  close  to  him,  talking 
with  the  groom,  but  he  repressed  the  name  and  looked  at 
her,  hurriedly  seizing  all  that  he  could  from  the  moment. 
She  had  grown  enough  stouter  to  give  her  a  woman's 
presence.  Her  features  were  fuller,  but  she  retained  her 
rare  girlish  coloring.  Her  heavily  embroidered  gray 
gown  and  her  erect  position  lent  her  an  air  of  stiffness, 
of  propriety,  that  was  new.  She  talked  to  the  groom  in 
the  voice  of  the  competent  mistress.  Elsie  was  now  a 
woman ! 

Many  a  time  they  had  driven  down  this  road  in  the 
autumn  twilight,  and  she  had  chattered  of  the  future. 
He  wondered  if  she  were  now  content  with  what  she 
had  accomplished.  The  next  afternoon,  when  the  shadows 
began  to  lie  broad  and  cool  over  the  upper  harbor  road, 
he  walked  to  Maxwell  Point.  The  county  road  had  been 
altered  to  suit  the  transformation  of  High  Head.  As  he 
entered  the  winding  drive  which  had  aroused  the  pilot's 
admiration,  he  remembered  that  somewhere  near  by  he 
had  been  cutting  balsam  boughs  when  Elsie  Mason  had 
pulled  up  her  horse  and  joined  him.  At  one  of  the  turns 
in  the  road,  he  sat  down  to  watch  the  harbor  —  quiet  at 
this  mid-afternoon  hour.  The  balsam  scent  was  pungent 
about  him,  and  a  large  blackberry  vine  ran  riotously  over 
the  ledge  that  had  been  blasted  for  the  drive.  The  hardy 
growth  of  the  coast  was  doing  its  best  to  cover  up  the 
scars  made  by  the  strangers. 

A  rattling  cart  came  down  the  drive  from  the  cot 
tage  above.  The  spokes  and  the  felloes  sang  a  discord 
ant  tune  to  the  accompaniment  of  hoof-beats.  A  t,hin 


202  THE   KEAL    WORLD 

woman,  one  of  the  "  natives,"  was  driving  the  old  white 
horse,  and  holding  a  child  in  her  lap.  Another  child 
was  asleep  in  an  empty  berry  crate.  As  the  white  horse 
deliberately  halted  at  the  turn  in  the  road,  'Jack  rose, 
and  recognizing  the  woman,  bowed. 

"  It  ain't  you,  Mr.  Pemberton ! "  the  woman  exclaimed, 
a  streak  of  color  staining  her  white  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  no  one  else,  Ruth,"  Jack  answered,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

Ruth  pulled  up  the  hard-bitted  old  horse  and  put  out 
a  long,  thin  hand  from  her  shawl.  Jack  felt  the  bones 
as  he  took  the  hand  in  his,  —  such  a  feeble  hand ! 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  so  good,  this  summer,"  she  answered  querulously. 
"  You've  grown  —  you're  goin'  to  be  a  big  man,  Jack." 

She  blushed  at  the  hardihood  of  her  remark.  And 
with  the  color  a  trace  of  the  old  sweet-pea  bloom 
returned,  effacing  the  brutal  ravages  of  her  laborious 
life, 

"You're  married,  my  aunt  tells  me,"  Jack  said,  to 
make  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  Ruth  answered,  the  flush  coming  back.  "  Been 
married  most  three  years.  Them's  the  children." 

Her  eyes  looked  down  vacantly  at  the  babies,  who 
stared  at  the  stranger. 

"  It  ain't  been  easy,"  she  volunteered.  "  If  'tweren't 
for  the  berries  and  the  chickens,  I  dunno  how  we'd  get 
along.  I  been  up  to  the  Cushings'  with  berries  and  eggs. 
They  take  all  I  have." 

Jack  patted  the  head  of  the  child  in  the  crate. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  203 

"  How've  you  been  ?  "  Ruth  asked  more  boldly.  "  I 
heard  you  were  a  scholar  —  goin'  to  preach  ?  " 

"  No,"  Jack  laughed,  "  I  guess  not." 

And  as  he  found  nothing  more  to  say,  he  asked  her 
where  she  lived. 

"  Out  on  the  Bluefields  Eoad.  I'd  be  real  pleased  to 
see  you ;  my  husband,  too." 

Jack  shook  hands  and  turned  to  go.  The  woman's  wan 
face,  the  aspect  of  the  last  effort  in  her  struggle,  was  in 
tolerable.  Ruth  spoke  to  the  horse,  who  with  due 
deliberation  started,  and  the  spokes  rattled  once  more 
with  increasing  fury  as  the  old  cart  gathered  speed. 
Jack  strode  on  up  the  drive,  Ruth's  haggard  face  in  his 
eyes.  The  poor  girl  had  married,  craving  the  solace  of 
her  kind,  and  her  pitiful  rushlight  of  life  was  snuffing 
out.  She  would  leave  these  two  babies,  to  repeat  her 
slight  bloom,  her  longings.  .  .  . 

The  Cushings'  stable  was  placed  among  the  fir  trees 
on  the  hillside  below  the  house.  He  saw  a  groom  walk 
ing  two  saddle  horses  up  and  down  before  the  stable. 
Otherwise  the  house  and  the  stable  were  deserted.  The 
broad  veranda  displayed  the  dainty  disorder  of  occu 
pancy  ;  a  novel  had  fallen  open  beside  a  chair,  as  if 
thoughtlessly  dropped  from  ennui.  It  was  a  long  time 
before  there  was  any  answer  to  his  ring.  The  house 
seemed  asleep  at  this  early  hour.  Finally  a  maid 
scurried  across  the  hall,  and  in  response  to  his  demand 
for  Mrs.  Gushing,  pointed  to  a  room  leading  from  the 
hall,  and  disappeared,  as  if  unaccustomed  to  this  kind  of 
service. 


204  THE   EEAL  WORLD 

Jack  entered  the  spacious  drawing-room,  through 
whose  long  windows  the  shore  breeze  was  drawing  lazily. 
It  was  deserted  like  the  rest  of  the  mansion,  and  he 
walked  slowly  down  its  great  length.  Elsie  had  found 
here  her  "  room  to  turn  around  in."  The  large  house,  the 
spacious  elegance  of  the  whole  place,  reflected  her  ambi 
tion.  Jack  flung  himself  down  before  an  open  window 
and  mused  in  the  solitude  of  the  great  room.  She  must 
have  changed  —  three  years  with  Gushing,  three  years 
with  all  the  power  of  his  money;  it  would  be  impossi 
ble  for  her  to  keep  that  soft  impressionability  of  child 
hood,  that  dance  of  emotion  which  he  loved.  She  would 
have  beaten  him  again  in  the  race  of  experience.  After 
a  time  he  grew  restless  ;  the  long,  silent  room  oppressed 
him.  He  walked  about,  looking  at  the  books,  touching 
the  bric-a-brac  on  the  tables,  his  footsteps  muffled  in  the 
heavy  rugs.  At  the  end  of  the  drawing-room  a  passage 
way,  concealed  by  a  half-drawn  portiere,  led  on  to  another 
large  room,  which,  from  its  bare  furnishings,  he  judged 
was  used  as  a  music  room.  It  formed  a  wing  of  the 
house  to  the  north,  under  the  shelter  of  the  firs,  and  a 
small  door  opened  directly  out  of  the  room  to  the  hill 
side.  Shades  were  drawn  over  the  small  windows,  cre 
ating  a  pleasant  dusk.  As  Jack  stood  in  the  doorway, 
he  was  conscious  that  some  one  was  in  the  room,  with 
that  subtle  intimation  that  body  gives  to  body.  At  the 
extreme  end  there  was  a  kind  of  recess,  circled  with  tiny 
leaded-glass  windows.  A  grand  piano  cut  off  this  part 
of  the  room,  and  its  raised  cover  formed  a  kind  of  screen 
between  him  and  the  window. 


THE   EEAL   WOULD  205 

He  moved  down  the  room  noiselessly.  Then  he  stopped 
and  coughed,  but  as  no  one  appeared  he  walked  on  again, 
looking  for  the  people  he  felt  sure  were  there.  He  was 
not  mistaken.  Within  the  recess  on  a  bench  beneath  the 
window  Elsie  was  seated  with  a  man,  as  though  she  had 
just  moved  from  the  piano.  She  was  looking  at  the  man 
with  a  peculiarly  direct,  feverish  glance,  the  look  that  a 
woman  gives  when  a  long-expected  crisis  has  come ;  when 
all  is  known,  and  she  looks  into  the  dark,  hidden  soul  of 
her  neighbor  to  seek  even  more.  The  man's  arm  rested 
on  the  casement ;  his  hand  was  on  a  level  with  her  neck, 
and  very  close  to  it,  as  if  at  the  moment  withdrawn  from 
touching  the  soft  curves  of  her  chin.  The  instant  of 
revelation,  of  intimacy,  froze  Jack  to  the  spot  where  he 
stood.  He  seemed  to  read  many  secret  pages  —  and 
then,  finally,  Elsie's  eyes  dropped,  wandered,  swept  past 
the  screen  of  the  piano,  and  rested  on  Jack.  She  started, 
dropping  from  her  hands  some  trinket.  The  object  hit 
the  floor  with  a  sharp  click  and  rolled  beneath  the  piano. 
Thereupon  the  man  turned  his  head,  and  straightened 
himself  lazily  into  a  more  conventional  position.  Jack 
knew  the  face,  though  he  had  not  seen  it  for  a  good  many 
years. 

He  was  much  the  most  embarrassed  of  the  three. 
Elsie  was  herself  once  more,  and  hurrying  forward  held 
out  her  hand  with  the  frank  cordiality  of  old  days. 

"  Jack,  Jack !  And  you  never  let  me  know !  Why, 
I've  been  in  a  rage  to  see  you,  and  I'll  bet  you  have  been 
here  a  week  without  letting  me  know,  without  coming 
here,  first,  and  last,  and  all  the  time.  Is  there  some  one 


206  THE  REAL  WORLD 

else  in  the  Keck,  Jack  ?  Some  other  girl  in  some  other 
cottage  ?  Roger,"  —  she  summoned  her  companion  impe 
riously.  "  You  remember  Mr.  Pemberton  ?  " 

Mather  rose  in  a  negligent,  bored  manner.  He  was  in 
riding  costume ;  the  white  trousers  and  lacquered  boots 
had  the  pleasant  affectation  of  an  aristocratic  amusement 
of  other  days.  When  Elsie  drew  his  attention  to  Jack, 
he  nodded  indifferently  and  sat  down  at  the  piano,  wait 
ing  for  the  interrupting  episode  to  conclude.  Elsie 
moved  about  restlessly,  talking  in  impetuous,  incomplete 
phrases. 

"Come  over  here!  Sit  there,"  she  ordered.  "No, 
there !  Turn  your  head  and  let  me  look  at  you." 

She  pulled  up  a  low  divan  and  sat  very  close  to  him, 
leaning  forward,  looking  into  his  face,  her  lips  parted  in 
a  happy  smile,  as  if  she  would  drink  in  the  answers  to 
her  volley  of  questions. 

"  Yes,  yes,  —  go  on,  go  on.  I  want  to  hear  all  about 
every  last  thing.  Stop  thumping  that  piano,  Eoger ! " 

But  Jack,  still  under  the  impression  of  that  revealing 
moment,  and  constrained  by  the  presence  of  Mather,  who 
sauntered  up  and  down  the  room,  examining  nothings 
with  a  detached  air,  biding  his  time,  humoring  the 
woman,  was  more  dumb  than  ever.  There  was  so  little 
to  tell :  he  had  merely  lived  and  worked,  worked  hard. 
He  stated  baldly  the  leading  facts,  —  that  he  was  to  enter 
a  law  firm  in  New  York,  that  he  had  persuaded  his 
friend,  Stevenson,  to  spend  a  few  weeks  at  the  Neck. 
Then  he  talked  about  Stevenson.  "  And  you  ? "  he 
ended. 


THE  REAL  WORLD  207 

"  It  will  take  hours !  You  will  lunch  with  me,  and  I 
will  talk  you  blind.  It  will  be  so  nice  to  go  all  over  it 
again,  and  tell  you  how  I  was  presented,  in  London  and 
in  Home,  how  fine  I  looked,  and  what  a  lot  of  beaux  I 
had,  and  about  Bushy  in  court  dress.  Oh !  Bushy  was 
great  in  court  dress,  wasn't  he,  Roger  ?  " 

Mather  had  completed  the  circle  of  the  room,  and  was 
looking  for  something  else  to  do. 

"Why  do  you  stand  there  like  a  stone!"  Elsie  ex 
claimed,  in  a  burst  of  annoyance.  "  Go  into  the  drawing, 
room  and  amuse  yourself,  or  go  home." 

"  I  guess  that's  what  I'll  do,"  Mather  drawled  lazily. 
"  Good-by,  Elsie.  A  ce  soir." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Jack,  who  rose  and  bowed  in 
a  prim  fashion. 


CHAPTER  VII 

"JACK!" 

She  took  his  hands  and  held  them  tightly  while  he 
waited  in  fear  for  the  torrent  of  explanation  and  defence, 
which  he  knew  was  inevitable.  But  she  said  nothing  about 
herself  after  all,  and  dropping  his  hands  began  to  talk 
indifferently  about  Pemberton  Neck,  and  the  house, 
which  seemed  to  have  lost  already  some  of  the  lustre 
of  the  new  toy.  She  discussed  the  architect's  ideas, 
cleverly  using  the  proper  vocabulary,  evidently  bored. 
Then  she  came  back  to  him,  his  plans  and  hopes,  and 
was  reanimated  for  a  moment  only  to  wander  off  to  a 
new  field.  And  to  avoid  the  inevitable  topic  he  talked 
of  himself,  of  his  little  triumphs  in  the  steadfast  plod 
ding  of  the  road. 

But  they  were  ill  at  ease,  and  at  every  corner  of  their 
talk  they  met  the  same  idea.  In  one  of  the  awkward 
pauses  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  You  think  I  am  too  low  for  blame ! "  she  exclaimed 
impetuously.  "  You  can't  be  angry." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Elsie,"  he  protested,  at  a  loss  what  to 
say,  touched  by  the  feeling  that  she  still  cared  for  his 
opinion.  "  I  wish  —  I  wish  I  hadn't  been  there,  hadn't 
seen,  —  that  is  all,"  he  faltered. 

208 


THE  BEAL   WORLD  209 

Her  eyes  flamed  out  at  this,  as  if  he  had  made  an  accu 
sation. 

"  What  have  you  seen  ?  Don't  imagine  more  than  you 
have  a  right  to!  A  woman  has  her  friendships,  even 
Avhen  she  is  married,  and  when  a  man  has  a  tendresse  —  " 

But  she  stopped.  His  steady  eyes  rather  shamed  her 
subterfuges.  As  he  made  no  reply,  she  burst  out  again  :  — 

"  What  am  I,  Jack  ?  Tell  me,  won't  you,  what  I  am  ! 
I  can't  see.  I  have  gone  on  from  one  step  to  another  — 
I  have  lost  the  way.  Oh !  I  wish  I  had  been  dead  before 
you  could  despise  me." 

"  I  don't  despise  you,  Elsie." 

"  You  should,  then.  I  haven't  had  the  sand  to  play 
the  game  according  to  the  rules.  I  was  no  fool  when  I 
married.  I  knew  Bushy  well,  the  good  and  the  bad,  and  I 
took  him  deliberately,  after  considering  it  all  for  months. 
I  said  that  was  what  I  wanted,  didn't  I,  Jack  ?  there  in 
the  Park  when  I  told  you  of  my  engagement?  And  I 
meant  to  be  a  good  wife,  to  play  fair  —  " 

"  You  have,"  he  affirmed,  trying  to  stem  the  tempest. 

"  What's  the  use  of  your  saying  so ! "  Her  voice  grew 
hard  and  calmer,  as  she  proceeded  with  the  cynical  analy 
sis.  "I've  always  said  that  the  women  who  flirted,  squeezed 
hands  in  corners,  let  men  kiss  their  hands,  then  their  arms, 
then  anything  except,  —  except  the  last  thing,  —  were  a 
mean  lot.  It  would  be  better  to  go  the  whole  way,  to  be 
honest  to  some  one.  But  that's  what  I  have  done,  after 
all  —  said  no,  and  taken  a  bite ;  said  no  again  and  taken  a 
larger  bite.  What  do  you  think  of  me  ?  I  am  not  alone  — 
there  are  hundreds  and  hundreds  in  my  crowd,  just  like 


210  THE   REAL   WORLD 

that,  or  worse,  and  the  world  wags  on  —  so  long  as  we 
kiss  in  corners  ! " 

She  could  see  from  the  man's  white  face  that  she  was 
wounding  him  more  than  herself.  But  the  desire  to  tear, 
even  his  heart,  to  make  the  man's  soul  bleed,  overmas 
tered  her.  He  leaned  against  the  casement,  drumming 
mechanically  on  the  little  panes,  wondering  that  she 
could  make  them  both  so  futilely  wretched. 

"  But  no  one  understands  what  it  has  been,"  she  went 
on,  softening  to  herself.  "  My  life  is  horrid,  horrid.  He 
doesn't  care  what  I  do,  so  long  as  I  keep  within  the 
limits  of  our  crowd.  He  would  drive  a  woman  to  any 
thing." 

"  Don't  speak  of  him,  Elsie ! "  Jack  exclaimed  irrita 
bly.  "  It's  pretty  cheap  to  hunt  for  excuses,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  will,  I  will,  I  will,"  she  cried  angrily.  "  Do  you 
suppose  a  woman  would  do  even  that,  if  she  had  any 
thing  to  live  for  ?  If  I  had  a  husband  who  was  more 
than  a  block  of  wood,  without  ideas,  without  feelings, 
without  fine  ambitions  —  a  man  who  will  make  money, 
money,  money,  lives  in  money,  and  would  squeeze  the  life 
out  of  a  friend  for  his  money.  He's  proud  of  nothing 
but  the  fact  that  he's  been  trickier  than  the  next  man. 
Yes,  —  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say  ;  that's  what  I 
wanted.  And  /  make  him  spend  it.  I'll  spend  millions 
before  I  am  done,  —  everything  he  has.  I'll  ruin  him, 
Jack.  I'll  ruin  him  —  that  would  be  some  fun.  He 
would  feel  that." 

"  Stop  this,  Elsie ! "  Jack  ordered.  "  If  you  keep  on  — 
it's  useless.  I  am  going." 


THE   REAL   WORLD  211 

"  Don't  go  yet !  Don't  leave  me  now !  If  you  care 
the  least  bit,  wait,  Jack.  I'll  —  I'll  be  decent.  Just  let 
me  talk  it  out.  I  haven't  in  four  years  —  really,  I  haven't, 
not  to  a  soul,  not  to  my  mother,  not  to  him.  Be  patient 
a  bit,  Jack." 

"It's  only  that  it  will  make  it  harder  for  you  later  on/* 
he  responded  in  a  dead  tone. 

"Oh,  no.  It's  better  already.  It's  outside  of  me 
now.  And  I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  haven't  done 
my  share,  that  I  haven't  tried  to  make  his  marriage  worth 
while.  His  own  friends  will  tell  you  that.  I  have  made 
his  house  something  more  than  a  rich  man's  eating  and 
sleeping  place.  I  have  brought  to  the  house  people 
worth  knowing,  —  clever  people,  influential  people,  dis 
tinguished  men.  He  wants  to  be  ambassador.  Bushy 
wants  to  be  ambassador ! " 

She  laughed,  and  Jack  joined  in,  relieved  by  this  note 
of  former  gayety. 

"Well,  I  think  he  will  be  ambassador,  and  he'll  have 
me  to  thank  if  he's  sent  to  Spain  next  spring." 

"  You  will  make  a  stunning  ambassadress,  Elsie." 

"  Oh !  yes,"  she  smiled.  "  I  can  do  most  things  when 
I  try  —  and  he  will  think  it's  all  his  power,  his  money, 
and  position.  Mr.  E.  P.  Gushing  is  not  a  generous  man, 
even  to  his  wife." 

"  But,  Elsie,"  he  protested.     "  After  all,  you've  got  —  " 

"  What  I  bargained  for,  Mr.  Lawyer.  That's  a  pretty 
mechanical  view,  brother !  Can  a  woman  ever  make  an 
absolute  contract?  Does  a  contract  hold  in  law  when 
you've  bargained  to  deliver  something  you  can't  ?" 


212  THE   REAL   WORLD 

t(  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  You  pay  the 
forfeit." 

"  Well,  I'm  paying." 

"  That  is  what  I  want  to  be  sure  of." 

"You  think  I  am  disloyal?"  she  flamed  forth 
again. 

"Not  until  you  tell  me  with  your  own  lips,  which  you 
won't,  you  can't ! "  he  said,  almost  pleadingly.  He  had 
turned  toward  the  door,  but  she  stopped  him,  laying  her 
hand  affectionately  on  his  arm. 

"  Don't  go.     Listen.     Stay  a  moment.     Listen." 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  with  the  old  appeal,  the  honest, 
frank  look  of  the  untrained  woman.  There  rose  before 
him  the  vision  of  that  other  woman  he  had  dreamed  into 
being  years  before  on  the  slopes  of  Green  Hill.  She  had 
pleaded  with  the  same  tender,  defeated,  despairing  eyes. 
And  for  that  moment  she  was  the  more  real,  the  living 
creature,  and  this  clogged  soul  beating  next  him,  a 
weaker,  vaguer  shadow.  .  .  . 

"  Listen !  I  want  to  play  fair.  I  want  to  live  it  out, 
to  keep  the  contract,  not  just  before  the  world,  but  really, 
absolutely,  to  the  last  dot  of  the  last  letter.  To-day  you 
saw  the,  the  —  " 

"  Don't  say  it,  Elsie.  I  have  seen  nothing.  You  were 
only  looking  into  the  gulf  —  that's  all." 

"  Yes,  listen.  He  kissed  me ;  I  let  him ;  I  didn't  try  to 
avoid  it.  He'd  wanted  to  lots  of  times  —  other  men,  too; 
I've  always  run  away  until  then.  But  I  thought,  what's 
the  use  ?  What  is  so  awful  in  it  ?  I  wanted  to  be  kissed, 
to  be  loved  a  little  that  way.  I  am.  honest,  Jack.  No, 


THE  REAL  WORLD  213 

listen !  It  was  the  first  time,  upon  my  honor  —  upon  your 
honor,  Jack." 

He  listened  without  trying  to  calm  her  or  to  escape.  In 
voluntarily  he  crushed  her  hands  in  his  grip  until  a  wave 
of  pain  shot  across  her  mobile  face. 

"  And  now  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  God  knows.     Tell  me  what  will  happen." 

He  dropped  her  hands  and  laughed  contemptuously. 

"  You  know  better  than  I,  I  guess.  Either  you  stay, 
and  are  a  liar  and  a  coward,  or  you  go,  and  are — " 

"  A  liar  and  a  sneak,"  she  filled  in.  "  Is  there  noth 
ing  else  ?  " 

"  Do  you  really  care  for  him  ? " 

She  paused,  and  then  answered  deliberately. 

"  I  don't  know.  It  might  have  been  some  other  one,  I 
suppose,  with  —  with  the  same  conditions." 

He  laughed  as  he  had  before,  with  a  loud,  unnatural 
sound  that  struck  his  own  ears  disagreeably. 

"  I  think  I'd  make  up  my  mind  on  that  point  first. 
You  wouldn't  want  to  have  to  try  again." 

She  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Oh  !  you  couldn't  have  said  that  before !  Would  you 
care  very  much,  now  ?  " 

"  More  than  you,  I  think." 

She  shivered,  and  held  out  her  hands  impulsively. 

"  Help  me  !  Believe  in  me  a  little  longer,  trust  me. 
You  did  care !  If  I  promise,  if  I  go  back  —  do  you  think 
I  am  big  enough  ?  " 

She  appealed  to  him  for  strength,  for  will,  confident  in 
his  power,  with  an  instinctive  grasp  of  his  nature,  know- 


214  THE    REAL   WORLD 

ing  that  he  measured  things  differently  from  herself,  or 
from  those  around  her.  She  did  not  understand  his  life, 
but  she  read  it  large,  magnified  it  in  her  human  need  for 
an  ideal,  for  an  unalterable  will,  a  rocky  purpose.  And 
he,  with  all  the  faith  of  youth  in  the  same  power  of  the 
will,  of  the  idea,  of  the  resolve  to  conquer  habit,  passion, 
inheritance,  flesh  and  nature,  —  all  the  giants  with  which 
the  spirit  strives,  —  felt  that  they  two  could  make  a  prom 
ise  that  would  control  her  life.  This  conviction  of  their 
spiritual  power  softened  the  hateful  story,  ennobled  the 
weakness  and  triviality  to  which  the  woman  confessed. 
So  they  stood,  making  this  covenant  as  it  were,  looking 
at  each  other  trustingly,  without  speaking,  for  they  had 
spent  their  words  on  the  sordid  facts.  At  last  she 
whispered :  — 

"  Remember,  you  said  you  would  always  care ! " 

"  Haven't  I !  "  he  answered. 

There  were  steps  in  the  drawing-room.  The  afternoon 
sun  had  left  the  casement  windows,  and  the  twilight  was 
filling  the  long  music  room.  Mr.  Cushing's  voice  could  be 
heard  in  the  next  room  ordering  a  servant  to  light  the  fire, 
they  walked  toward  him  slowly,  both  feeling  that  their 
understanding  was  not  quite  complete,  that  more  had  to  be 
said.  Mr.  Gushing  was  in  evening  dress,  and,  as  he  turned 
from  the  fireplace,  he  seemed  to  Jack  whiter,  stiffer,  older, 
than  ever.  He  had  the  same  cunning  scowl  between  his 
eyes,  and  the  same  ill-tempered  droop  to  the  lower  lip. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  gloomy  hole,"  he  observed,  not  notic 
ing  Jack.  "  Where's  Thompson  ?  I  thought  you  were 
out  with  Mather." 


THE    REAL   WORLD  215 

"  We  returned  some  time  ago,"  Elsie  replied.  "  This  is 
Mr.  Pemberton." 

"  How  do ! "  Gushing  jerked  out,  holding  forth  a  thin  arm 
to  the  young  man.  Then  he  added  to  his  wife :  — 

"  You  aren't  going  to  dine  in  that  rag,  are  you  ?  " 

Elsie  paid  no  attention  to  the  remark,  but  turned  to 
Jack. 

"  You  will  stay  to  dinner  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day,  Elsie,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  have  stayed 
too  long !  " 

"  Not  a  moment,"  she  answered,  but  she  did  not  urge  him 
to  remain.  She  accompanied  him  down  the  long  drawing- 
room,  where  the  servant  was  lighting  the  lamps  and  the 
candles ;  she  kept  close  to  his  side,  looking  up  into  his 
face,  loath  to  have  him  go  beyond  her  reach.  When  they 
were  alone  in  the  hall,  she  detained  him  to  say  one  thing 
more. 

"  You'll  come  again  very  soon  ?  And,  Jack,  you  don't 
know  half  what  it  is.  There  are  reasons  —  I  am  bound, 
hand  and  foot.  But,"  —  she  uttered  the  words  with  a 
little  gasp,  —  "I  think  I  shall  never  —  rebel  —  again." 

Then  she  fluttered  away  up  the  dark  staircase,  and  at 
the  landing  turned  and  waved  her  hand  with  a  little  of 
her  old  buoyancy.  The  missing  Thompson  appeared  and 
opened  the  door  with  a  flourish.  As  Jack  stepped  forth 
on  the  gravel  drive,  something  more  than  the  mere  dusk 
of  the  evening  blurred  the  landscape.  The  visions  of  his 
youth  had  been  rubbed  and  tarnished,  and  he  walked  heav 
ily  in  the  uncertain  gloom  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  "  Bluefields  Road  "  crossed  the  coast  hills  behind 
Pemberton  Mills.  It  was  a  rough,  rocky  road,  little  fre 
quented  except  by  horseback  riders.  The  Betts  house 
was  one  of  those  rain-washed,  gray  shanties  standing  in 
the  lush  grass  of  an  unkempt  orchard  to  be  found  along 
the  back  roads  of  New  England.  An  ell  of  the  house 
had  been  torn  down,  and  the  timbers  used  for  fire-wood. 
The  scar  where  the  gable  was  torn  off  was  visible  from 
the  road. 

The  house  with  its  orchard  and  meadow  fields  was  in 
a  little  pocket  behind  the  hills,  beyond  the  beautiful 
coast.  When  Jack  reached  it  one  afternoon,  the  shadows 
were  already  stealing  over  the  fields  from  the  dark  firs, 
and  a  cold  dampness,  like  rank  sweat,  was  rising  from 
the  meadows.  A  lean  unshaven  young  man  with  faded 
eyes  was  smoking  before  the  door.  Jack  recognized 
him  as  one  of  the  gawky  older  boys  that  used  to  loaf 
about  the  Mills.  In  answer  to  Jack's  greeting,  he  rose 
from  the  broken  kitchen  chair  by  the  door  and  slouched 
down  the  path. 

"  Not  many  folks  come  this  way,"  he  observed  wistfully, 
"'cept  they  want  somethin'  —  berries  or  washin'  or 
chickens." 

"  I  came  to  see  you  and  Ruth,"  Jack  hastened  to  ex 
plain. 

210 


THE  BEAL   WORLD  217 

"  She's  pretty  bad  to-day,"  Betts  said  dolefully,  spitting 
at  an  over-familiar  chicken.  "  Jes'  can't  get  around.  I 
dunno  exactly  what's  the  matter,  why  she  'pears  so  low. 
No  stuff  does  her  much  good." 

The  house,  overrun  with  chickens  who  stalked  proudly 
in  and  out  of  the  door,  wore  the  same  air  of  expected 
misfortune  that  the  man's  remarks  gave. 

"I  guess  it's  damp  hereabouts,"  Betts  suggested,  spit 
ting  again. 

When  Jack  asked  to  see  Euth,  Betts  led  the  way  into 
a  darkened  room  where  his  wife  was  lying  on  a  bed,  a 
dirty  cotton  comforter  thrown  over  her  figure. 

"  Jack  ! "  she  cried,  with  delight  and  surprise.  "  Ezra, 
how  could  you  bring  Mr.  Pemberton  into  this  messy 
room ! " 

"Don't  get  up,"  Jack  urged,  as  Kuth  raised  herself, 
revealing  untidy  masses  of  brown  hair.  "  I  wanted  to  see 
you  again  before  I  went,  and  I  may  leave  any  time  now. 
So  I  walked  across  the  woods  this  afternoon." 

"  Goin'  back  to  the  city  ?  "  Euth  asked  wistfully.  "  I 
was  tellin'  Ezra  how  you'd  have  a  place  on  the  Neck 
some  day." 

Betts  left  them  to  fetch  the  cow  from  the  pasture,  and 
when  they  were  alone  a  sudden  awkwardness  made  them 
silent. 

"I  just  hate  to  have  you  see  this,"  she  repeated,  point 
ing  to  the  unkempt  bed  and  the  dirty  child  who  was 
playing  on  the  floor.  "You'll  think  we  ain't  no  pride. 
I  guess  we  kind  of  giv'  up !  It's  too  much,  too 
much  1 " 


218  THE   REAL   WORLD 

She  began  to  cry  silently. 

"  It's  hard  not  to  be  well  and  so  much  to  do." 

"I  don't  blame  him.  He's  done  the  best  he  can,  but 
the  children  came,  and  he  ain't  the  man  to  get  on.  And 
then  I'm  no  good  most  of  the  time.  But  he's  real  kind 
to  me  —  never  complains.  We're  just  played  out." 

Any  denial  would  have  been  palpably  false. 

"Yes,"  she  insisted,  with  a  clear  conception  of  her 
wasting  life.  "  We're  just  used  up.  The  worst  of  it  is 
the  children ;  they'll  grow  to  do  the  same  thing." 

Then,  with  a  feeling  that  she  was  putting  forth  her 
miseries  indelicately,  she  tried  to  talk  about  other  mat 
ters,  —  the  girls  they  had  known  at  the  hotel,  the  village 
people,  and  the  Neck.  The  luxury  of  this  fashionable 
life  fascinated  her,  like  the  pictures  of  high  life  in  the 
story  papers  that  came  her  way,  or  the  florid  paragraphs 
about  the  extremely  rich  in  the  newspapers.  She  told 
him  the  gossip  of  the  doings  at  the  Neck,  the  strange 
tales  that  start  from  the  back  steps,  the  kitchen  veran 
das  of  cottages. 

"  You  remember  the  picnic  at  the  lake,  and  how  those 
ladies  came  in?  That  Mis'  Mather  has  been  real  kind 
—  she  stops  in  here  most  every  week.  I  kind  of  thought 
when  I  heard  you  outside  it  might  be  her.  She  and  Mis' 
Gushing  are  both  real  good.  We  heard  that  Mis'  Mather 
was  goin'  to  marry  Mis'  Cushing's  brother,  but  it's  been 
a  long  time  now,  and  nothin'  seems  to  come  of  it." 

When  Jack  undertook  to  leave,  Ruth  begged  him  to 
stay. 

"I  don't  cal'late  to  see  you  agin.     I  like  to  talk  to 


THE   REAL   WORLD  219 

you  —  you  seem  so  strong  and  well  and  happy.     And  we 
don't  see  much  like  that  up  here  on  the  Bluefields  Koad." 

So  he  lingered,  and  they  talked  about  the  same  people 
all  over  again.  The  air  was  musty  and  close,  and  Jack 
insisted  on  building  a  fire  in  the  big  chimney.  Then  he 
played  with  the  little  boy,  who  brought  out  the  contents 
of  the  wood-box  for  his  inspection. 

"It's  him,"  Ruth  murmured,  looking  at  Jack  mean 
ingly,  her  weak  white  face  ennobled  for  the  moment  by 
insight.  "  It's  him  !  He'll  be  like  —  me,  like  his  father, 
or  worse." 

This  was  the  ghost  that  haunted  her  dying  —  the 
sense  of  inevitable  repetition  of  fate.  The  young  man 
started  forward,  moved  beyond  his  habitual  constraint 
by  pity  for  the  forlorn  being  who  was  withering  away. 

"  Don't  worry,  Ruth !     Something  better  will  come ! " 

"No,  it  can't!  There's  no  use  talking.  Them  that's 
down  in  this  world  is  down,  and  stays  down  unless  a 
miracle  happens." 

"  No,  no,"  he  expostulated.  "  Something  will  open  for 
him.  Don't  worry  over  your  babies.  If  I  can,  I  will  see 
that  they  start  fair.  Yes,  I  can,  I  know  I  can,  and  I 
will  see  that  they  start  fair." 

"  Will  you !  "  she  exclaimed  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,  I  promise,"  he  answered,  the  first  vague  impulse 
of  comforting  the  poor  creature  growing  into  a  larger 
determination. 

Her  face  flushed  with  the  old  weak  trustfulness,  the 
sweet-pea  instinct  to  twist  its  tendrils  about  any  firm 
prop. 


220  THE   REAL   WOKLD 

"  It  may  not  be  much,  but  I'll  do  that  little.  Euthy 
I'll  help  them  to  start  fair,"  he  repeated. 

"  That's  real  good,"  she  sighed.  "  I  always  knew  you 
were  kind,  Jack." 

She  lay  without  speaking,  exhausted  by  the  unusual 
emotion.  In  the  next  room  Betts  was  preparing  the 
evening  meal  and  talking  to  the  baby.  As  Jack  was 
leaving  the  sick-room,  some  one  came  up  the  path  from 
the  road. 

"  That's  Mis'  Mather,"  Euth  whispered  more  animatedly, 
and  drew  herself  from  the  pillows,  attempting  to  smooth 
her  hair. 

Jack  had  not  seen  Miss  Mather  since  the  evening 
when  he  had  been  with  Stella  and  Liddy,  and  she  had 
so  obviously  overlooked  him  in  the  foyer  of  the  theatre. 
Now  she  bowed  slightly  to  him  and  turned  directly  to 
the  sick  woman. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  stay,"  she  explained,  as  Jack  bade 
Euth  good-by. 

"  It's  kind  of  late  for  you  to  be  goin'  thro'  them  pines 
alone,"  the  sick  woman  observed. 

"  I  will  wait  outside  for  you,  if  I  may,"  Jack  offered. 

Miss  Mather  agreed  to  his  proposal  not  very  cordially. 

Outside,  the  dark  twilight  line  had  crept  from  the  fir 
trees  to  the  house.  A  streak  of  red  across  a  fluffy  cloud 
betrayed  the  last  gleam  of  the  sun,  that  was  setting  over 
the  bay  in  the  more  open  land.  Jack  took  the  broken 
chair  beyond  the  sound  of  the  voices  inside  and  tilted  it 
against  the  gray  shingles.  Silence  seemed  to  steal  out  of 
the  forest,  to  envelop  the  unkempt  house  like  the  mists  of 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  221 

evening,  surrounding  it  with  a  vast  desert  of  loneliness. 
The  sick  woman  within  was  struggling  in  this  loneliness, 
this  abandonment  to  silence.  As  he  thought  of  his 
promise  to  her  about  her  babies,  he  was  strangely  glad. 
It  was  the  happiest  thought  he  had  had  for  months.  -He 
would  see  her  once  more  and  make  the  thing  clearer 
to  her  so  that  the  peace  of  it  would  be  fuller.  There  was 
a  subtle  pleasure  in  the  thought,  strange  in  his  isolated 
life,  that  in  all  the  dark  perplexity,  the  numb  touch  that 
the  world  gave,  these  helpless  people  offered  the  precious 
warmth  of  humanity. 

Miss  Mather  came  from  the  house  at  last,  pulling  on 
her  gloves  thoughtfully,  and  without  speaking  they 
started  up  the  road.  He  noticed  that  she  was  thin  and 
her  face  was  worn,  the  muscles  of  the  mouth  quivering 
now  and  then  as  if  her  apparent  composure  needed  a 
distinct  tension  of  the  will.  She  held  herself  erect  and 
walked  well,  with  a  little  air  of  aloofness.  Not  every 
transient  wayfarer  could  get  close  enough  to  Isabelle 
Mather  to  know  what  passed  beneath  the  quivering  face. 
He  wondered  what  had  become  of  her  engagement :  he 
had  meant  to  ask  Elsie. 

"I  am  afraid  she  can't  get  to  church  again.  I  was 
going  to  send  the  carriage  to-morrow,"  Miss  Mather  re 
marked  at  last. 

The  reflection  seemed  to  Jack  irritatingly  trivial. 

"  What  does  she  want  to  go  to  church  for ! "  he 
exclaimed  harshly.  "  She's  good  enough  for  any  world 
that's  better  than  this." 


222  THE    KEAL   WORLD 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  She  sees  people,  you  know.  It's 
about  the  last  tie  she  has  to  society,  and  she's  always 
brighter  afterwards." 

"  Oh ! "  Jack  responded,  mollified. 

"As  long  as  she  could  sell  berries,  it  was  different. 
She  can't  outlive  the  winter,  I'm  afraid." 

"  I  hope  not.     It  must  be  dreadful,  the  winter  here." 

"But  her  children,"  the  woman  protested  softly. 
"Every  month  of  pain  can  be  endured  for  them.  Poor 
thing ! " 

"  Yes,  poor  thing,"  he  repeated  bitterly  without  know 
ing  why.  "  Poor  dumb  thing !  " 

Just  ahead  of  them  on  the  edge  of  a  small  hill  a  man 
was  splitting  wood  in  front  of  a  cottage.  As  he  raised 
his  axe,  which  was  caught  in  a  block  of  wood,  his  large 
muscular  figure  was  outlined  against  the  sky.  Again 
and  again  he  raised  the  axe,  swiftly,  surely,  revealing 
the  reach  of  his  arm,  the  perfect  working  of  his  strong 
body.  The  two  walkers  involuntarily  stopped  to  watch 
him. 

"  That  is  so  great ! "  Miss  Mather  murmured  as  to  her 
self.  "  That  is  power,  force." 

"  And  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  love  to  see  power  more  than  anything  in  the  world ! 
Force,  force ! "  she  repeated  in  rhythm  to  the  axe.  "  Oh, 
for  more  power,  like  that !  " 

There  was  something  spontaneous  in  her  cry,  as  if  the 
secret  of  her  pale  face  had  slipped  unconsciously  from 
her  lips.  There  was  no  need  to  explain  the  reason  of 


THE   REAL   WORLD  223 

her  long  engagement.  She  had  evidently  learned  the 
central  weakness  of  the  man  she  loved. 

"  I  had  rather  see  the  other  thing  —  repose,"  Jack  re 
joined.  She  closed  her  lips,  and  they  started  forward. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  hill  they  caught  sight  of  two 
people  on  horseback,  who  had  emerged  from  a  cross-road. 

"  That  must  be  Eoger  and  Elsie,"  Miss  Mather  ob 
served,  watching  them  plunge  into  the  dark  gulf  of  the 
wooded  road.  "  How  she  rides  !  As  she  does  everything 
else, — as  though  it  were  the  only  moment  she  had  to 
live." 

"  There's  enough  force  for  you,"  Jack  said  with  spleen. 
"  And  what  comes  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  a  great  deal :  she  makes  many  people 
very  happy." 

"  Is  she  happy  ?  " 

"Why  shouldn't  you  think  so?  I  am  sure  no  one 
could  say  that  she  was  unhappy." 

Her  cautious  answers  irritated  him.  She  was  always 
on  the  right  side  of  the  fence.  He  resented  her  fine 
breeding,  her  reserve.  She  must  know  Elsie's  situation 
a  thousand  times  better  than  he  did,  in  a  way,  but  she 
would  be  very  careful  not  to  let  him  know  that  she  did. 

"Most  of  us  see  very  little  of  Elsie,"  Miss  Mather 
continued.  "  She's  too  busy  to  have  intimates.  She  can 
never  give  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  minute  to  any  one, 
but  she  makes  you  feel  as  if  you  were  the  only  person  in 
the  world  for  that  quarter  of  a  minute.  She's  the  most 
marvellous  woman  I  know,"  she  continued  in  tranquil 
analysis.  "Elsie  does  and  says  the  most  unpardonable 


224  THE   REAL   WORLD 

things  —  if  it  weren't  Elsie.  But  it  is  Elsie,  and  you 
forgive  her.  Some  people  can  risk  breaking  a  good  many 
commandments. " 

"Because  she  says  in  French  what  can't  be  said  in 
English,  and  rides  like  the  devil,  I  suppose  ? "  Jack 
suggested  truculently. 

"  Oh,  no !  Lots  of  women  in  her  set  do  that.  Because 
she  makes  you  feel  that  she's  the  most  important  person 
in  the  world.  She's  horribly  egotistic  and  spoiled.  Elsie 
is  a  mere  wonder !  And  I  think  "  —  she  turned  her  grave 
eyes  to  the  man  to  impress  upon  him  her  words  —  "  Mr. 
Gushing  is  an  excellent  husband  for  her." 

"  So  that  seems  to  you  quite  the  ideal  marriage  ?  "  he 
queried  brusquely. 

"  And,  pray,  why  not  ?    Elsie  loves  luxury  and  power." 

Jack,  thinking  of  the  tall  man's  figure  that  was  riding 
ahead  of  them  so  close  beside  Elsie,  retorted  ironically :  — 

"It's  pretty  hard  to  tell  what  any  woman  does  love 
most,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Again  Miss  Mather's  cool  eyes  studied  the  man's  face, 
as  if  she  were  wondering  where  to  place  him.  After 
some  deliberation,  she  replied:  — 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  give  any  general  answer  to  that 
question,  do  you  ?  " 

The  safe  commonplace  baffled  Jack  once  more.  He 
had  found  out  nothing  about  Elsie  from  this  carefully 
trained,  self-possessed  young  woman,  and  he  knew  that 
he  had  given  a  rather  poor  account  of  himself.  On  all 
the  rare  occasions  when  he  had  been  thrown  with  Miss 
Mather,  from  the  time  when  they  met  as  children  in  the 


THE  HEAL  WORLD  225 

summer  house,  lie  had  been  at  a  disadvantage.  She 
seemed  to  possess  a  peculiar  ability  of  showing  him  to 
himself  as  crude,  raw,  and  common  —  in  short,  as  one  of 
the  people  whom  she  did  not  ordinarily  meet.  They 
walked  more  rapidly,  anxious  to  finish  this  enforced 
tete-a-tete. 

"You  will  go  to  Elsie's  ball  Saturday,  of  course?" 
Miss  Mather  asked  idly  to  make  conversation. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  shortly.  "I  might  as 
well  begin  my  work  at  once,  and  balls  won't  be  a  part  of 
that." 

The  girl  smiled. 

"  But  if  you  want  to  see  Elsie  at  .her  best,  with  all 
her  train,  you  should  go  to  the  ball.  She's  giving  it  for 
the  foreigners  she  has  been  entertaining.  The  German 
ambassador  will  be  there,  and  a  lot  of  gay  people  are 
coming  to  the  Neck  just  for  that.  It  will  be  the  great 
event  of  our  season.  You  had  better  stay  over  for  it," 
she  added,  good  naturedly,  as  though  advising  a  boy  to 
behave  himself. 

Then  she  spoke  of  her  brother  Ned,  who  was  the  spoiled 
child  of  the  family.  Nominally  he  was  supposed  to  be  in 
a  broker's  office  in  New  York,  but  having  hurt  his  leg  in 
a  polo  match  the  year  before  he  had  had  an  excuse  for 
not  confining  himself  to  business.  The  General  and  she 
were  to  return  to  the  Eiverside  home  this  fall  and  live 
there  permanently.  She  did  not  seem  to  regret  giving  up 
the  enjoyments  of  New  York,  and  looked  forward  with 
pleasure  to  the  tranquil  winter  months  in  the  old  house 
on  the  hill.  As  she  talked,  Jack  realized  the  womanly 


226  THE  REAL   WORLD 

maturity  which  underlay  her  reserved  manners.  She 
possessed,  in  contradistinction  to  Elsie,  character,  in  the 
usual  sense  of  the  term.  Even  her  commonplaces  were 
significant  of  that,  and,  albeit  unwillingly,  his  nature 
responded  to  that  element  in  hers.  When  they  reached 
General  Mather's  driveway,  she  extended  her  hand 
cordially  and  said:  — 

"I  hope  I  have  persuaded  you  about  Saturday.  I'm 
sure  it  will  do  you  good — I  mean  you  will  have  a  good 
time,"  she  corrected  swiftly,  noticing  Jack's  smile.  Then 
with  a  rapid  change  of  mood,  she  asked  meaningly: 
"  Why  aren't  we  —  Elsie's  friends  and  mine  —  as  enter 
taining  as  other  women  ?  " 

Jack  noticed  the  sudden  emphasis  of  her  tone.  He 
remembered  the  servants'  picnic,  and  the  foyer  of  the 
New  York  theatre  when  she  had  seen  him  with  Stella 
and  Liddy.  He  blushed  with  embarrassment  as  he 
answered :  — 

"  I  suppose  they  are.     I  don't  make  any  distinctions." 

"  Indeed ! " 


CHAPTER  IX 

HE  had  waited  for  hours,  standing  by  the  open  window 
in  the  dark  corner  of  the  veranda,  watching  the  people 
eat  and  dance,  and  listening  to  the  broken  fragments 
of  talk  that  fell  around  him.  Early  in  the  evening 
before  the  dancing  had  begun,  Elsie  had  passed  him  in 
the  crush,  leaning  on  the  ambassador's  arm,  and  had 
stopped  to  give  him  a  special  welcome. 

"  Isabelle  said  you  would  come,"  she  whispered  with 
a  malicious  little  smile.  "Been  flirting  with  Isabelle? 
She's  in  the  music  room,  and  wants  to  see  you.  Isabelle 
is  a  good  one  to  begin  with,  Jack.  Don't  keep  company 
with  the  stars ! " 

He  had  been  too  dull  to  enter  into  her  gay  mood,  that 
sparkled  like  the  stones  in  her  brown  hair.  He  had  never 
seen  her  so  excited  with  the  pleasant  incense  of  success. 
The  black  pupils  of  her  eyes  swam  in  a  mist  beneath  the 
dark  fringe  of  lashes.  Her  mouth  quivered  in  childlike 
ripples  of  joy.  She  had  kept  the  ambassador  waiting 
while  she  leaned  confidentially  toward  him  and  laid  her 
hand  affectionately  on  his  arm.  The  skin  of  her  arm, 
he  remembered,  had  a  rose  flush  like  the  transparent 
flesh  of  her  temples. 

"  I  want  to  see  you  —  again,"  he  stammered.  "  I'm 
going  to-morrow." 

227 


228  THE  EEAL  WOULD 

"  No,  no,  not  to-morrow,"  she  pleaded,  all  for  him  in 
the  moment  that  she  stole  from  another.  "  After  to 
morrow  we  shall  be  very  quiet,  and  we  could  have  some 
good  times,  the  old  times.  Promise  me  you  won't  go  to 
morrow  ?  There  are  some  matters,  very  important  ones. 
I  want  your  help.  Promise  me  you  will  wait." 

He  had  stammered  something,  confused  by  the  crowd, 
and  the  curious  eyes  that  were  upon  them  both.  Finally 
he  had  said  no,  he  could  not  stay  on,  and  she  had  replied 
hurriedly :  "  Very  well,  later  to-night,  after  supper,  there 
will  be  time." 

With  a  smile  she  had  drawn  back  from  the  window, 
and  with  a  fresh  smile  and  a  word  to  her  waiting  escort 
had  swept  into  the  vortex  of  people  beyond  his  vision. 
So  he  had  staid  on,  for  Elsie  never  forgot  and  never  dis 
appointed.  It  was  less  for  the  news  she  wanted  to  tell 
him,  —  some  trivial  thing,  —  than  for  one  more  chance  to 
see  the  face  he  loved,  alert  and  happy  with  success.  He 
watched  her  go  out  to  supper  with  the  ambassador,  and 
then  return  to  the  music  room  to  dance  with  the  French 
attache,  then  with  Roger  Mather,  who,  he  was  forced  to 
admit,  was  much  the  handsomest,  most  distinguished 
young  man  in  the  room.  Stevenson  was  dancing  with 
Miss  Mather.  Her  face  and  dress  struck  him  as  colorless 
and  subdued  among  all  the  rich  tints,  the  vivacious  faces, 
that  surrounded  her.  She  danced  listlessly,  wearily,  and 
Stevenson  was  soon  dancing  with  another.  He  was  to 
take  the  early  morning  train,  and  was  absorbing  to  the 
full  the  last  moments  of  his  vacation. 

Mr.  Gushing  came  out  upon  the  veranda  to  smoke, 


THE   REAL   WORLD  229 

stalking  back  and  forth  behind  Jack,  now  and  then  look 
ing  at  the  dancers  with  an  impassive,  imperturbable  air. 
Others  came  to  the  cool,  dark  veranda  to  flirt  for  a  fraction 
of  an  hour.  On  the  lips  of  all,  in  the  corners,  in  the 
smoking-room,  among  the  casual  lovers,  Jack  caught  the 
refrain  of  Elsie's  triumph. 

"  It  is  Mrs.  Gushing' s  night." 

"  She  keeps  her  baby  looks." 

"Those  foreign  chaps  know  a  good  American  thing," 
a  man  observed  complacently  in  the  smoking-room. 

"  She  never  spares  herself,"  a  young  woman  commented 
enviously.  "And  she  never  shows  it,  not  a  line." 

And  once  while  he  was  following  her  with  his  devour 
ing  eyes,  Miss  Mather  spoke  to  him. 

"  Worshipping  too  ?  It  was  worth  coming  for,  wasn't 
it?  You  couldn't  get  a  better  frame  for  your  goddess. 
There  are  times  when  Elsie  is  not  at  ease,  but  she  carries 
everything  with  her  here.  I  could  just  follow  her  about 
and  adore,  as  you  have  done  all  the  evening.  You  see 
she  isn't  for  one,  but  for  all." 

Her  tone  had  a  little  malice  in  it,  as  though  she  were 
laughing  at  his  rustic  admiration.  Yet  he  was  glad  to 
see  her,  and  when  she  made  a  place  for  him  he  sat  down 
beside  her  to  talk.  But  his  mind  wandered  from  her  to 
the  dancers,  and  when  Elsie  left  the  room  he  became 
restless. 

"  You  don't  enjoy  yourself,"  Miss  Mather  observed. 

"You  have  to  learn  this  thing  early,  I  suppose,"  he 
admitted.  "  It  doesn't  belong  to  my  life." 

"  Why  not  to  you,  as  much  as  to  the  next  one  ?  " 


230  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"Because,  —  why,  I  have  just  work  ahead." 

"  Does  that  keep  you  from  playing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  this  kind  of  play.  My  work  can't  be  with  these 
people,"  he  answered  brusquely,  "nor  my  play.  I  am  a 
mere  stranger,  who  has  happened  in  by  mistake  and  who 
will  go  back  to  his  bench  to-morrow." 

Miss  Mather  pondered  his  remarks  seriously.  He 
puzzled  her. 

"  These  are  working  people,  too." 

"Not  in  my  way.  I've  always  belonged  to  the  plain 
workers,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  do  this.  Pancoast 
Lane  is  a  long  way  off,  isn't  it? " 

She  blushed  at  his  gaucherie,  his  insisting  on  matters 
that  were  usually  overlooked. 

"  Do  you  want  to  learn  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No — I  don't  believe  I  do.  I  thought  once  I  did  — 
it  was  the  chief  thing  I  worked  for,  I  believe." 

He  did  not  say  that  Elsie  had  given  him  that  ambition, 
and  that  to  be  of  the  world  which  Elsie  loved  and  admired 
had  been  the  secret  spring  of  much  toilsome  effort.  To 
night  that  fact  seemed  silly  and  childish.  He  could 
never  be  like  these  other  people,  and  he  had  a  crude  dis 
like  of  them  because  they  had  cheapened  for  him  his 
dream  of  Elsie. 

"It  isn't  really  worth  while,"  Miss  Mather  mused. 
"  One  learns  it  easily,  not  as  well  perhaps  as  Elsie,  but 
well  enough.  There  are  other  things  to  learn,  to  do, 
and  I  suppose  you  mean  to  do  them." 

Her  voice  was  singularly  earnest,  and  her  eyes  had  an 
unexpected  fire. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  231 

"  Just  now  it  doesn't  seem  very  clear  what  is  worth 
doing,"  he  admitted  frankly. 

"  Everything !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  To  work  out  some 
thing  good  in  life,  some  achievement! " 

"  Do  you  suppose  you'd  feel  any  better  if  you  did  ?  " 

She  glanced  at  him  coldly,  and  then  seeing  the  troubled 
expression  of  his  face,  she  said  gently  :  — 

"For  one  thing  you  make  life  better  and  easier  for 
others." 

There  was  something  personal  in  this,  which  he  was 
curious  to  understand,  but  a  man  broke  in  upon  their 
talk,  and  he  did  not  see  her  again. 

Then  Jack  talked  to  the  older  women  whom  he  knew. 
They  had  supped  very  well,  and  did  not  listen  to  his 
conversation,  their  eyes  following  the  movements  of  the 
younger  people  with  unquenched  enthusiasm.  So  he 
relapsed  into  gazing  at  the  brilliant  faces  of  the  women. 
To  his  uncritical  eyes  they  were  all  lovely,  with  deli 
cate  features  and  vivacious,  sympathetic  eyes,  —  all 
dainty  and  seductive,  —  the  decorative,  floral  tracery  of 
the  world.  The  heat  of  the  room,  the  recurring  bars  of 
dance-music,  the  maze  of  changing  features  slowly  hypno 
tized  him  until  the  scene  seemed  to  have  repeated  itself 
over  and  over  in  his  consciousness,  like  some  symbolical 
movement. 

Gradually  the  ranks  thinned,  and  the  voices  grew 
louder.  He  could  distinguish  discordant  bursts  of  laugh 
ter,  and  awkward  lurching  movements.  The  champagne 
and  heat  were  taking  their  effect.  It  was  nearly  three 
o'clock,  and  those  couples  that  had  stayed  went  out  to 


232  THE   REAL   WORLD 

the  dining  room  for  a  second  supper.  This  was  more 
noisy  and  boisterous  than  the  former  one  in  spite  of  the 
diminished  numbers.  Only  intimates  seemed  to  have 
remained.  Jack  was  on  the  point  of  hunting  up  Steven 
son  to  take  him  to  his  train,  when  Elsie  slipped  from  the 
supper-room  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Let's  go  out  on  the  veranda,"  she  said  wearily. 
"They  are  so  noisy  they  won't  miss  us.  I  am  nearly 
dead,  and  the  end  isn't  yet.  Did  you  like  me  this  even 
ing  ?  "  she  asked  with  her  usual  egotism. 

"  I  never  knew  how  beautiful  you  were ! " 

She  smiled,  pleasantly  soothed  by  his  unreserved  ad 
miration. 

"  I  think  I  was  rather  fit,  myself.  The  young  and  old, 
my  infant  class  and  my  old  guard,  have  done  their  pret 
tiest,  too.  But  goody !  I  am  tired.  What's  that,  a  fire 
at  sea?"  She  pointed  to  a  spot  of  light  above  Seal 
Island. 

"Merely  the  first  streak  of  dawn  above  Seal  Island, 
Elsie.  Time  for  bed !  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed !  Do  you  remember,  Jack, 
the  afternoon  we  spent  over  on  the  rocks  there ;  how  I 
gave  you  your  first  lessons  about  the  world  and  things  ? 
How  green  I  was,  and  how  I  loved  to  teach  you !  " 

"  I  remember  that  better  than  I  remember  anything." 

"What  good  days  we  had  that  September!  Some 
times  I  think  all  the  really  best  times  of  my  life  I  have 
had  with  you,  Jack." 

She  clung  very  close  to  his  arm,  gazing  out  at  the 
advancing  dawn  above  Seal  Island.  Fresh  shouts  of 


THE   HEAL   WOULD  233 

laughter  mingled  with  loud  cries  reached  them  from  the 
supper-room. 

"Billy  Enders  is  doing  stunts,  I  suppose.  I  hope 
they'll  leave  some  glass  unbroken,"  Elsie  observed. 

"  I  know  I  oughtn't  to  keep  you ! "  Jack  exclaimed 
reluctantly. 

"  They're  happy,  and  I  am  happy  to  be  here  with  you 
like  this,  dear  Jack ! " 

She  touched  his  shoulder  with  her  head  affectionately 
for  a  moment.  He  trembled  involuntarily,  and  spoke 
with  mechanical  slowness. 

"  I  am  glad  I  saw  this,  Elsie.  To-night  convinces  me 
that  you  chose  right,  that  you  are  really  happier  so  — 
than  without  all  this.  You  may  want  something  more, 
now  and  then,  but  you'll  say  to  yourself,  'No,  I  have 
what  I  really  want,'  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  lecture  me,  Jack.  Just  let  me  stand  here  and 
forget  what  I  am.  I  don't  want  to  think  of  myself  just 
yet." 

So  they  stood  watching  the  eastern  glow  without 
speaking  until  he  noticed  that  she  shivered. 

"  You  are  getting  cold." 

"No,  I  was  thinking  of  something.  Fetch  me  that 
cloak  if  you  want  to.  I  was  thinking  of  to-morrow." 

"  Don't  think  of  to-morrow ! "  he  responded  more  gayly. 

"I  must.  There'll  be  a  terrible  scene  with  Bushy. 
He's  a  Turk !  I  can  say  it  to  you,  Jack.  I  can  say  any 
thing  to  you.  It  isn't  like  talking  to  the  other  men  — 
you  understand.  He's  been  waspish  all  the  summer 
—  doesn't  like  that  little  Duroy.  I  believe  he  doesn't 


234  THE   REAL   WORLD 

mind  how  many  men  I  have  around  me,  so  long  as  I 
keep  to  Americans,  but  he  doesn't  like  foreigners.  He 
can't  speak  the  language,  and  when  we  talk  French  he 
doesn't  know  what  we're  saying,  and  thinks  it  must  be 
scandalous.  He  almost  made  a  fuss  at  dinner  to-night, 
and  he's  sulking  now  in  the  smoking-room.  Don't  you 
see  why  I  have  to  have  my  excitements?  I  can't,  I 
can't  drop  people,  and  give  up  my  interest  in  men.  I 
couldn't  play  out  the  farce !  And  I  can't  shut  my  doors 
on  people,  every  one  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  be 
nasty  about.  He  hates  all  the  interesting  ones.  If  they 
haven't  money,  if  they  are  just  artists  or  actors  or  clever, 
he  insults  them  —  insults  them  in  his  own  house !  And 
if  they  have  position,  and  he  doesn't  dare  to  insult  them, 
he  takes  it  out  of  me.  Oh,  Jack,  you  always  make  me 
think,  and  I  hate  thinking." 

He  held  her  hot  hand  in  his  broad  palm,  and  caressed 
it  gently  as  he  would  a  child's.  In  the  pallor  of  the 
morning  dusk  her  sparkle  had  gone  out.  For  the  first 
time  he  could  see  lines  of  experience  and  nervous  ex 
haustion  creep  into  her  face. 

"  So  you  won't  stay  over  even  one  day  for  me  ?  "  she 
resumed  peevishly.  "You  think  I  am  altogether  hor 
rid  to  say  such  things  as  I  tell  you.  Well,  I  feel  'em, 
and  lots  worse  beside.  And  you're  wrong  in  saying  that 
this  pays.  I  am  not  so  cheap  as  that!  Why  don't  I 
break  off  then  and  live  apart?  You  don't  know  how 
things  tie  themselves  into  ten  thousand  knots.  There's 
Frank !  He's  gone  and  made  a  mess  of  things  in  busi 
ness,  and  Bushy's  got  to  help  him  out.  Father  hasn't  a 


THE   REAL   WORLD  235 

cent  —  that's  another  story !  Ugh !  I  wonder  some 
times  there  aren't  more  of  those  horrible  newspaper 
stories  about  husbands  that  die  poisoned,  or  suicides  by 
wives ! " 

She  broke  off  with  a  laugh. 

"  You  think  I  am  pretty  far  gone  ?  But  you  care  a 
little  still,  just  a  little  ?  Tell  me ! " 

She-  took  the  lapels  of  his  coat  and  played  with  them, 
pulling  him  nearer  to  her,  in  the  irresistible  desire  for 
sympathy. 

"  I  can  see  nothing,  nothing,  not  five  minutes  ahead ! 
If  I  were  only  like  you,  Jack !  But  women  aren't  made 
that  way.  They  haven't  the  power  to  live  along  without 
getting  what  they  want.  You'll  find  a  better  Woman, 
Jack ;  some  one  who  will  love  enough  —  I  am  a  selfish, 
useless  thing,  and  you  make  me  feel  it.  And  that's  why 
I  can't  let  you  go  to-night,  for  I  don't  know  how  long. 
I  want  to  say  something  to  you,  make  that  promise,  you 
remember.  I  want  to  have  it  to  think  of  when  —  I  am 
just  ready  to  forget  everything.  We  can't  talk  of  it 
to-night,  but  to-morrow,  to-morrow  — 

"  Where  are  you  hiding,  Mrs.  Gushing  ?  "  a  jovial  voice 
broke  in  behind  them.  "  It's  dangerous  watching  sunrises. 
Miss  Dominic  is  going  to  —  " 

"You're  wanted  inside,  Elsie,"  Roger  Mather  inter 
rupted.  "  They're  getting  pretty  lively." 

Jack  followed  Mather  and  Elsie  into  the  house  to  hunt 
for  Stevenson,  who  had  probably  forgotten  all  about  his 
train.  He  found  him  in  the  smoking-room,  surrounded 
by  a  group  of  hilarious  young  men,  who  were  laughing 


236  THE   REAL  WORLD 

loudly  at  stories  which  they  had  not  heard.  Other  men 
were  stretched  out  on  the  divans,  overcome  by  champagne 
and  sleep.  One  middle-aged  man  —  a  well-known  lawyer 
—  had  slipped  from  the  leather  chair  where  a  friend  had 
placed  him,  and  lay  in  a  knot  on  the  floor.  As  Jack 
entered,  he  raised  his  head,  blinked  feebly  at  the  electric 
light,  and  sank  back  with  a  contented  sigh. 

"  This  is  what  I  call  a  thoroughly  husky  party," 
Stevenson  observed  genially  to  Jack,  when  he  was  re 
minded  of  his  train.  "  It's  worth  while  missing  the  train 
to  see  so  much  good  society  unbend." 

He  insisted  on  making  his  farewells  to  Mrs.  Gushing. 
They  found  her  in  the  music  room  with  the  remaining 
guests.  All  the  people  who  could  be  accused  of  having 
serious  tastes  had  taken  their  departure  long  before. 
Those  who  had  ''stayed  on"  seemed  to  have  counted 
especially  on  this  end  of  the  night.  An  impromptu 
vaudeville  was  in  progress.  When  the  two  men  entered, 
a  rather  plump  young  married  woman  had  just  finished  a 
dance  upon  a  table  and  was  being  lifted  to  the  floor  by 
young  Enderson  amid  much  uproar.  Then  Elsie  began  the 
accompaniment  of  a  popular  song,  and  a  little  fluffy- 
haired  girl  sang  the  French  words.  Her  childlike  face 
emphasized  the  sous-entendu  of  the  lines;  at  times  the 
company  drowned  her  thin  voice  and  the  tinkle  of  the 
piano  by  stamping  their  feet,  clapping  and  howling  the 
chorus,  which  seemed  very  familiar.  One  of  the  servants 
was  serving  champagne  and  removing  the  empty  glasses 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  boisterous  guests.  His  white, 
sleepy  face,  as  he  performed  his  task  mechanically,  COD- 


237 

trasted  amusingly  with  the  perspiring,  purple  counte 
nances  of  the  feasters. 

"Come  on,"  Stevenson  exclaimed  gruffly.  "It  turns 
my  stomach  when  the  women  begin  to  mix  in  this  kind 
of  thing." 

Jack  nodded.  It  reminded  him  of  the  servants'  picnic 
when  Elsie  had  shown  her  contempt  for  the  vulgar. 
He  remembered  oddly  that  Miss  Mather  had  not  been 
offended  that  night.  He  pictured  to  himself  the  sneer 
on  her  fine,  regular  face  at  this  performance.  She  could 
never  tolerate  the  common  thing,  the  sensual  abandon 
ment  of  self,  such  as  this. 

A  servant  lay  stretched  on  the  hall-seat,  snoring. 
The  two  young  men  let  themselves  out  of  the  house  and 
walked  to  the  stables  for  their  trap.  There  the  grooms 
and  maids  from  the  large  house,  and  the  ladies'  maids 
who  were  waiting  for  their  mistresses,  were  entertaining 
themselves  with  champagne  and  ices.  While  the  drunken 
groom  was  bringing  their  horse  and  carriage,  they  watched 
the  servants  carouse. 

"  They  aren't  so  rowdy  as  the  others ! "  Stevenson 
commented,  taking  the  horse  from  the  groom. 

As  they  whirled  rapidly  down  the  drive,  the  notes  of 
the  chorus  to  the  French  song  shouted  in  every  key 
floated  out  from  the  cottage  on  the  Head. 


CHAPTER  X 

AFTER  Jack  had  bidden  Stevenson  good-by  at  the  sta 
tion,  he  sent  the  carriage  back  to  the  hotel  and  started 
over  the  hills  in  the  direction  of  Pemberton  Mills.  Now 
that  he  had  put  off  leaving  at  Elsie's  request,  he  had 
time  to  spare  and  no  desire  to  sleep.  The  cheerfulness 
of  the  dawn,  which  spread  with  a  certain  solemnity  and 
fresh  grace  across  the  hills,  soothed  him  and  laid  to 
rest  the  distorted,  incoherent  thoughts  that  beset  him 
these  days.  He  was  glad  to  think  of  seeing  Elsie  once 
more,  and  subtly  touched  with  gratitude  that  she  cared 
for  him,  —  useless  as  he  was  in  all  her  perplexities,  —  and 
did  him  the  grace  to  pour  out  to  him  her  stormy  heart. 
When  he  stopped  to  consider  her  calmly,  to  ponder  her 
vehement  accusations  and  lamentations,  he  judged  her 
narrowly  and  hardly.  But  this  morning,  with  the  touch 
of  her  hands  still  on  his  arm,  he  was  unwarrantably 
happy.  He  could  believe  that  she  would  still  win  peace 
and  power  over  herself,  and  that  he  could  in  some  dark 
fashion  save  her  from  her  more  desperate  moods. 

As  he  reached  the  Cove,  a  light  mantle  of  morning 
mist  was  rising  from  the  sea  and  wrapping  itself  about 
High  Head.  He  wondered  if  the  revel  up  there  had 
come  to  an  end  at  last.  With  a  feeling  of  disgust  at 
the  men  and  women  whom  he  had  left  drinking  and 

238 


THE  REAL   WORLD  239 

romping  in  the  cottage,  he  passed  the  silent  lodge. 
Beyond,  beneath  the  cliff,  a  path  led  through  the  woods 
around  the  Point.  Elsie  and  he  had  often  taken  it  in 
preference  to  the  high-road,  and  he  wondered  if  it  still 
remained,  after  Gushing  had  improved  the  property.  In 
the  idleness  of  his  mood,  he  climbed  over  the  stone  wall 
and  pushed  his  way  through  the  undergrowth  to  the 
shore.  After  a  few  moments  he  was  on  the  path,  walk 
ing  out  to  the  Point,  following  aimlessly  the  convolu 
tions  of  the  steep  shore-line.  He  passed  beneath  the 
Cushings'  stables,  where  the  servants  of  the  belated 
guests  were  still  carousing. 

Finally  he  stopped,  not  knowing  how  close  to  the 
house  the  path  might  lead  him ;  he  had  no  wish  to 
return  to  the  party.  The  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  were 
burning  off  the  mist  that  rose  from  the  cold  water. 
The  sun  seemed  to  struggle  with  the  heavy  spirits  of 
the  night,  now  dissipating  for  a  space  the  thin  vapors, 
and  again  shrouding  itself  in  fresh  banks  of  fog.  Yet, 
he  thought  the  sun  would  conquer,  making  a  resplendent 
September  day.  Under  the  thick  firs  it  was  still  dark, 
and  his  feet  tripped  over  the  interlacing  roots  of  the 
trees.  His  mind  glowed  with  thoughts  of  Elsie,  brighter 
conceptions  struggling  with  his  gloomy  doubts,  as  the 
sun's  warmth  contended  with  the  fog.  She  was  a  braver 
soul,  tenderer  and  truer  than  his  harsh  judging  admitted. 
He  was  hard  —  she  suffered,  and  her  words  were  but  her 
impulsive,  wild,  rebellious  self.  All  would  come  out 
right!  And  when  she  had  subdued  herself  to  acceptance 
of  her  fate,  she  would  make  her  acceptance  magnificent, 


240  THE  KEAL  WORLD 

full  and  cordial  and  sweet,  like  her  gentle  self,  that  he 
had  loved  for  years,  would  always  love. 

He  had  already  begun  to  retrace  his  steps  when  a 
movement  among  the  firs  above  him  caught  his  attentive 
ears.  At  first  it  seemed  the  snapping  of  a  dead  branch. 
Then,  as  he  listened,  he  heard  a  human  sound  —  a  mur 
mur  of  voices,  and  through  the  thick  branches  he  saw 
the  outline  of  figures  on  the  path  above  him.  Some  ser 
vants  playing  the  game  of  their  masters !  But  he 
turned,  without  purpose,  and  swiftly  climbed  back  on 
the  path  until  he  was  on  a  level  with  the  figures,  and 
suddenly  beyond  a  wide-reaching  branch  that  stretched 
across  the  path,  he  came  upon  them.  The  man  was  in 
evening  dress,  the  woman  in  a  long  gray  cloak,  which 
Jack  remembered  he  had  taken  from  the  hall  to  cover 
Elsie  with.  Their  backs  were  turned  to  him,  but  he 
knew  —  and  for  a  moment  he  thought  to  escape.  The 
woman's  form  muffled  in  the  cloak  was  clinging  to  the 
man,  a  passive  weight,  one  arm  slipping  in  nerveless 
abandonment  from  the  folds  of  the  garment.  .  .  . 

The  man  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  Jack,  then 
spoke  to  the  woman,  who  sprang  forward. 

"  Jack  !  It's  Jack !  Why,  I  thought  you  had  gone  — 
hours  ago  —  " 

Her  voice  broke  harshly  in  the  attempt  to  gain  her 
usual  assurance,  and  the  face  looked  gray  and  hard  in 
the  pallid  light  beneath  the  trees. 

"  Why,  why,"  she  resumed,  summoning  her  quick  will. 
"  Why  did  you  come  back  ?  " 

Jack  shook,  as  if  the  dank  morning  air  had  given  him 


THE   REAL   WORLD  241 

an  ague.  He  listened,  seemed  to  wait  for  her  to  say 
something,  and  did  not  reply.  But  he  blocked  the  path ; 
Elsie  began  again :  — 

"  We  have  been  having  a  morning  walk  to  get  cool  — 
it's  been  such  a  stuffy  night.  We  found  this  old  path  — 
the  path  along  the  shore  —  " 

"  Don't  lie,  Elsie,"  Jack  interrupted  in  a  monotonous 
voice. 

At  the  words  Elsie  shivered,  and  again  her  face  set 
hard  and  gray.  She  gathered  the  cloak  about  her  and 
took  Mather's  arm.  Jack  pushed  back  into  the  trees 
to  let  them  pass.  She  walked  unsteadily,  as  if  the 
champagne  she  had  drunk  had  suddenly  gone  to  her 
head,  and  Mather  supported  her.  But  she  pushed  him 
from  her  and  walked  ahead  more  surely,  passing  Jack 
withcfut  a  glance.  As  Mather  followed  close  behind, 
something  in  his  face,  —  half  sneer,  half-irritated  self- 
contempt,  a  mere  flicker  of  hatred  for  the  person  who 
caused  this  scene,  —  caught  the  eye  of  the  trembling 
man,  whose  arm  he  almost  knocked  as  he  sauntered  past 
in  the  narrow  path.  The  foolish  trembling  ceased,  and 
in  a  moment  the  hot  blood  surged  over  Jack  once  more. 
Blindly,  purposely,  with  the  inarticulate  cry  of  the  beast, 
he  threw  himself  on  Mather.  The  force  of  his  spring 
carried  Mather  from  his  feet,  and  together  the  men 
rolled  across  the  slippery  path,  and  crashed  into  the 
underbrush  beneath.  Mather  seized  his  enemy  about  the 
neck,  and  Jack  fought  to  wrench  himself  free.  The 
pent-up  strength  of  his  peasant  people  rose  in  his  blood, 
uncontrolled  by  thought  of  decency,  of  self,  of  any  catas- 


242  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

trophe.  One  desire,  one  thirst,  one  fever/possessed  him, 
—  to  kill  this  man,  whom  he  hated,  who  had  been  base 
enough  to  take  the  woman  he  loved  when  she  was  weak. 

In  the  struggle  they  fell  and  rolled  over  the  steep 
bank,  fighting  wildly,  Jack's  hand  at  the  other's  throat, 
his  neck  bent  and  twisted  in  Mather's  grip.  Thus  they 
plunged  together  down  the  bank,  rolled  over  the  cold 
ledge  of  the  shore,  and  with  a  final  lurch  fell  into  the 
water.  The  one  conscious  idea  that  filled  Jack's  mind 
was  the  desire  to  choke  the  throat  he  held  in  his  hand, 
to  throttle  the  man's  life,  to  kill  him  first  where  they  lay 
like  dogs  in  a  shallow  pool.  The  icy  sea  lapped  their 
faces.  The  man  in  the  convulsive  grasp  of  Jack's  broad 
hand  relaxed  his  grip,  groaned  and  gagged.  Mechani 
cally,  unconsciously,  feeling  himself  free,  Jack  raised  the 
limp  head  in  his  hand  and  banged  it  against  the  -rocky 
bottom  of  the  pool.  He  dug  his  knees  into  the  breast 
to  get  a  firmer  hold,  and  beat  the  head  back  and  forth. 

"  Will  you  murder  him !  Stop,  Jack,  stop !  Jack, 
stop,  will  you  murder  him  !  " 

Elsie  seized  his  arm  and  dragged  it  back.  He  threw 
her  off  roughly. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  You  will  kill  him !  you  will  kill 
him ! "  she  shrieked,  trying  to  pinion  his  arms. 

The  hysterical  tones  of  her  voice  broke  the  tension  in 
his  mind.  He  let  the  head  fall  back  into  the  pool  and 
straightened  himself,  looking  vacantly  at  Elsie. 

"  You  have  killed  him !  "  she  cried,  dragging  Mather's 
limp  head  from  the  tide  and  pillowing  it  on  a  rock. 
"Why  don't  you  kill  me?" 


THE  KEAL   WORLD  243 

Jack's  arms  twitched,  and  he  strode  toward  her.  She 
cowered  down  beside  Mather  and  waited  for  the  blow. 
But  Jack  looked  at  the  motionless  figure  of  the  man. 

"Is  he  dead?"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "Is  he  dead 
yet,  Elsie?" 

Elsie  wiped  the  still  face  with  her  handkerchief,  and 
presently  Mather  moaned  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Go  home !  go  home  at  once !  Get  away,"  Jack 
ordered,  in  his  normal  voice.  As  she  hesitated,  still 
wiping  the  bleeding  face,  he  repeated  angrily:  "Go 
home.  The  man  is  alive.  I  will  attend  to  him.  Get 
out  of  this  ! " 

He  grasped  Mather's  shoulders  and  drew  him  to  the 
bank,  placing  him  carefully  among  the  bushes. 

"  I  will  find  some  one  to  help  me,"  he  said  calmly. 
And  as  Elsie  still  lingered  he  added  roughly :  — 

(l  You  can  do  no  good.     Get  away  !  " 

Elsie  obeyed,  hurrying  up  the  bank.  At  the  top  she 
looked  back  and  saw  Jack  bending  over  the  body  in  the 
bushes ;  then  she  hurried  on  toward  the  house. 


CHAPTEE  XI 

THE  rosy  daybreak  had  given  false  promise.  A  thick, 
dull  gray  strip  of  fog  laced  the  sea-line,  and  every  minute 
broadened,  as  though  a  greasy  fluid  had  been  poured  out 
upon  the  glassy  surface  of  the  water.  Two  young  men, 
who  were  getting  ready  a  seine-boat  at  the  head  of 
the  cove,  looked  searchingly  from  time  to  time  at  the 
open  sea  and  made  remarks.  They  encouraged  each 
other  to  believe  well  of  the  day,  but  did  not  hasten  their 
preparations.  Finally  they  moored  the  heavy  boat  in 
deep  water  and  lit  their  pipes.  The  figure  of  a  man, 
hatless,  with  torn  shirt  and  rumpled  coat,  could  be  seen, 
stumbling  over  the  rocky  shore,  coming  towards  the  boat. 
As  he  drew  near,  they  recognized  young  Pemberton,  and 
hailed  him,  asking  what  was  the  matter.  He  told  them 
briefly  that  a  man  had  fallen  into  the  water  off  .High 
Head  and  had  disabled  himself.  He  directed  them 
where  to  find  the  injured  man,  and  jumping  into  the 
boat,  called  out :  — 

"  I  will  sail  around  and  help  you  take  him  off  in  the 
boat." 

The  two  fishermen,  stupefied  by  the  man's  excitement, 
asked  no  questions,  but  set  off  by  the  shore  path  whence 
Jack  had  come.  With  nervous  haste,  Jack  trimmed  the 
sails  and  got  the  lumbering  seiner  under  way.  He  headed 

244 


THE  KEAL  WORLD  245 

for  the  point  of  the  Neck,  which  was  marked  by  the  roof 
of  the  Gushing  cottage. 

The  cheerful  lap  of  the  little  morning  waves  soothed 
the  passions  of  the  man.  The  soft  tug  of  the  tiller  under 
his  arm  helped  him  to  think  more  connectedly,  to  see 
things  clearer.  Mather  was  not  dead,  nor  very  seri 
ously  hurt,  he  believed.  He  had  spoken  quite  rationally 
before  Jack  left  to  seek  help.  He  had  not  killed  him. 
He  was  glad  of  it  now!  The  fishermen  would  find 
Mather  thirsty  and  ill-tempered,  and  the  three  of  them 
could  get  him  into  the  boat.  Then  he  would  let  them 
sail  the  injured  man  over  to  the  General's  cottage, 
and  take  himself  off,  away  from  Pemberton  Neck  for 
ever! 

The  tide,  stronger  than  the  fitful  shore  breeze,  swept 
the  seiner  out  by  High  Head  close  to  the  iron-stained 
ledges  at  the  foot  of  the  cottage.  The  fog,  which  was 
threading  inshore  rapidly,  shifted  for  a  moment  and 
revealed  near  at  hand  above  him  the  broad  veranda,  the 
gable  ends  of  the  house.  As  his  eyes  rested  there,  he 
saw  a  woman's  arm  cautiously  reach  out  and  draw  in  the 
blinds  of  a  window  on  the  second  floor.  For  an  instant 
before  the  broad  blind  swung  in,  he  caught  sight  of  a 
white  figure  gazing  out  at  the  fog.  Abandoning  the  tiller, 
he  stood  up  and  strained  his  eyes  to  recognize  the  woman. 
Her  attention,  too,  was  attracted  by  the  boat.  She 
lingered  at  the  window,  watching  intently.  .  .  . 

The  boat  came  into  the  wind ;  the  little  waves  slapped 
against  the  prow  more  querulously.  Jack  grasped  the 
tiller  and  set  his  face  from  the  land.  A  moment  more 


246  THE   EEAL   WORLD 

a  filmy,  damp  shadow  fell  from  the  sky,  completely 
enveloping  the  boat.  The  cottage  was  gone;  the  iron- 
stained  ledges  fast  faded  into  the  streamers  of  the  fog- 
bank,  which  filtered  into  the  Bay  from  the  open  sea. 
He  still  held  the  heavy  boat  on  her  course,  regardless  of 
the  encroaching  fog,  which  disguised  the  long,  thin  reefs 
that  ran  out  into  the  Bay.  Thicker  and  thicker  came 
the  fog,  in  banks,  in  fast  filing  clouds.  The  wind  had 
shifted  and  was  blowing  steadily,  faster  than  the  silent 
fog-banks.  He  no  longer  knew  how  he  was  headed. 

The  fog  was  thick  like  greasy  water,  heavy  and  bring 
ing  heaviness  to  the  heart  of  the  man,  —  something  insub 
stantial  like  the  forms  of  fear  against  which  man  vainly 
casts  himself.  The  impalpable  waste  divided  before  him, 
swallowed  him  and  his  craft,  and  immediately  closed 
stealthily  behind  him,  pressing  him  on  all  sides  with 
dreary,  silent  insistence.  The  land  might  be  a  stone's 
throw  from  him ;  it  might  be  in  another  planet.  A  puff 
of  wind  might  tear  the  veil  asunder  for  a  moment,  but 
for  a  moment  only.  Long  threads  of  grayish  white  drew 
across  the  sails,  leaving  bright  beads  of  moisture,  and  the 
water  gurgled  mournfully  beneath  the  bowsprit. 

He  liked  the  cold  touch  of  the  fog,  which  bathed  his 
heated  breast  like  a  damp  sponge.  He  liked  the  sense 
of  motion,  of  cleaving  a  way  through  vast  gulfs  of  yield 
ing  air.  The  isolation,  the  will-less  motion  from  this 
world  to  others,  —  on,  elsewhere,  beyond,  —  calmed  his 
chafed  spirit.  The  brutal  outburst  of  bloody  desire 
faded,  and  he  knew  himself  no  longer.  The  mrvn  Mather, 
the  woman  he  had  loved,  took  on  the  pitiful  ghostliness 


THE  REAL  WOKLD  247 

of  the  uncertain  fog,  and  human  anger  became  as  the 
inarticulate  expostulation  of  wraiths.  Thrdugh  the 
grayish  waves  there  sounded  the  thud  of  lazily  heaving 
billows  on  a  rocky  shore  —  some  island  ahead,  some 
hard  speck  in  the  swimming  vacuity  of  fog-land !  He 
neither  courted  it  nor  fled  from  it.  As  the  seiner  swept 
on  under  the  wind,  a  bell-buoy  clanged  its  harsh  note, 
which  soon  softened  into  uncertainty  in  the  fog,  as 
though  the  bell  were  muffled  in  felt.  In  his  lethargy  he 
cared  little  whether  he  was  to  bring  up  on  the  Bull  Reef 
or  some  other  ledge  of  the  treacherous  coast.  The  world 
that  had  struggled  into  being,  the  world  that  he  had 
created  faithfully  in  abstinence  and  with  longing  effort, 
was  dissolving  and  floating  away,  like  the  streamers  of 
mist  that  swept  across  the  sails. 

A  small,  weak  cause  for  this  wreck  of  a  man's  world, 
he  told  himself.  A  woman  that  would  take  her  cheap 
pleasure !  There  were  other  men  and  women  to  believe 
in  and  a  world  to  gain  yet.  But  of  that  he  knew  noth 
ing  now.  All  such  reasonableness  of  a  sensible  man  had 
fled  when  his  hand  was  on  Mather's  throat.  She,  too, 
was  created  of  mist,  —  insubstantial,  deceptive,  fleeting! 
The  love  that  he  had  given  her,  the  very  elements  of 
courage  and  manliness  which  she  had  first  given  him, 
vanished  as  the  illusions  of  a  silly  youth.  Again  and 
again,  while  he  clung  to  the  wet  tiller,  he  tried  to  sum 
mon  his  courage,  as  a  general  calls  upon  his  reserve ;  he 
put  forth  his  will  to  remember  the  world  as  it  stood 
before  this  fog.  Again  and  again  it  was  swallowed  up 
until  the  sail  and  the  waves,  the  wet  boat  and  his  clammy 


248  THE   REAL   WORLD 

body  were  drifting  in  the  billowy  waste.  There  was 
nothing  firm  and  abiding;  he  was  nothing. 

She  had  used  him  as  a  plaything  for  her  virtuous 
moods.  She  had  spilled  the  sentimental  yearnings  of 
her  soul  in  his  ears.  They  had  made  a  solemn  covenant 
of  will  together,  and  in  a  few  hours  she  had  taken  her 
life  of  pleasure,  like  a  common  woman,  stealing  from 
her  husband's  house !  She  was  110  other  than  Stella  and 
Liddy,  and  less  than  the  little  waitress. 

All  the  selfishness  and  egotism  of  her  nature  were 
stripped  bare  before  him.  He  had  thought  her  cold  and 
chaste,  almost  unwomanly  hard,  and  so  she  was  for  him. 
She  would  not  sin  with  him.  But  in  her  heart  she  was 
carnal.  A  strange  desire,  an  unknown  brutality,  took 
possession  of  him.  He  would  go  back  to -her  and  master 
her.  A  time  would  come  in  her  facile  heart  for  him. 
From  one  man  to  another  she  would  turn,  pushing  her 
unappeased  desires  for  pleasure  a  little  farther  each 
time,  demanding  more  license,  more  brutal  sensations. 
All  the  animal  instincts  of  his  nature,  hitherto  repressed 
and  scourged  by  his  strong  will,  asserted  themselves  with 
feverish  visions.  He  remembered  how  soft  and  white  her 
flesh  had  seemed  that  very  night.  There  were  treasures 
of  voluptuousness  in  the  woman.  He  had  held  her  as 
the  chief  of  his  reverences,  but  she  was  a  thing  to  use 
like  other  coarse  vessels, —  to  use  and  throw  away.  The 
round,  white  arms,  the  arching  lips  that  would  tremble 
in  passion,  the  mottled  flush  of  her  warm  skin,  the  scent 
of  her  hair,  the  abandon  of  her  desirable  person.  .  .  . 

That  was  the  part  of  a  man  —  to  wait  and  use  her 


THE   REAL  WORLD  249 

when  his  turn  came  in  the  round  of  her  desires,  to  sat 
isfy  this  horrible  lust  and  forget,  —  not  to  sit  here  like 
a  shivering  idiot,  soaking  in  this  rotting  fog.  As  Steve 
said,  he  was  ignorant  of  life,  a  green  country  boy  who  did 
not  know  how  to  make  himself  comfortable  among  men. 

The  seiner  came  heavily  into  the  wind  and  fell  off, 
wallowing  into  the  bosom  of  the  fog,  its  track  wiped 
from  the  oily  waters  as  it  passed.  A  sickly  gleam  of 
warmish  sun  permeated  the  damp :  the  day  was  getting 
on;  by  the  time  he  reached  Pemberton  Neck,  the  sea- 
turn  would  have  been  swept  away  and  the  ordinary  raw 
landscape  of  life  would  appear.  He  must  get  to  work, 
make  his  money,  and  learn  to  satisfy  his  wants,  like  the 
other  animals,  at  the  huge  feeding-trough  of  life.  .  .  . 

She  had  led  him  to  this  defilement  of  soul  where  there 
was  nothing  but  lust,  —  lust  and  hate.  He  had  dreamed 
her  walking  fearlessly  with  generous  heart,  pure  and 
daring,  foolish  but  sound  and  sweet.  He  saw  her  now 
as  a  mere  soft,  pleasant-bodied  playfellow,  —  a  stimulat 
ing  gamester  to  win  from.  It  was  but  a  boy's  dream  the 
other  world  of  restraint  and  noble  desires,  —  the  life  of 
the  soul.  The  only  world  —  real  or  unreal  —  was  the 
world  that  touched  these  sharp  senses.  He  laughed 
insolently  in  the  dreary  fog,  and  stretched  his  numb 
limbs.  He  was  something  of  a  man;  his  long  well- 
nourished  body,  his  smoothly  thumping  heart,  his  heavy 
hands  and  powerful  arms  appealed  to  him  in  a  new  way. 
"  An  engine  of  mortality,"  he  muttered.  Yes  !  an  engine 
that  had  its  work  of  destruction  before  it. 

In  the  eagerness  of  this  new  purpose,  he  fixed  the  tiller 


250  THE    REAL   WORLD 

and  hunted  through  the  lockers  for  a  compass.  This  he 
dusted  carefully  and  set  beside  him  on  the  seat.  He 
was  impatient  with  the  folly  that  had  blown  him  hither 
and  thither  for  hours.  He  was  hungry  and  cold;  his 
good  body  reminded  him  of  the  idiotic  neglect  he  had 
paid  it.  He  would  feed  it  grossly  enough  when  he  got 
safe  out  of  this.  Elsie  would  find  a  new  man  —  would 
she  like  him  ? 

The  whistle  of  a  large  vessel  bellowed  close  at  hand, 
and  in  a  moment  bellowed  again  impatiently  like  a  help 
less  beast  blindfolded  among  dangers.  He  listened  for 
the  note.  It  was  not  the  whistle  of  a  local  boat.  He 
judged  it  to  be  the  St.  John's  steamer:  he  had  been 
blown  far  out  to  sea.  The  wind  freshened,  bringing  in 
thick  volumes  of  the  muddy  fog,  and  the  seiner's  tackle 
groaned.  Suddenly  the  black  side  of  a  steel  steamer 
loomed  up  over  his  quarter  like  the  flank  of  a  monster, 
and  at  the  same  instant  the  fog- whistle  bellowed.  A  man 
peered  down  from  the  bridge  at  the  coatless,  hatless 
figure  in  the  little  boat ;  the  steamer's  screw  kicked  up 
a  little  spume,  and  the  monster  moved  off  slowly,  bellow 
ing  in  grievous  complaint. 

He  shook  the  compass ;  it  bobbed  to  and  fro  aimlessly, 
worthlessly.  He  was  lost,  fast  enough !  He  crouched 
back  beside  the  tiller,  the  warmth  of  his  fierce  passions 
chilled  by  the  shrouding  fog.  He  would  not  reach  the 
Neck  —  he  no  longer  cared  to.  Elsie  had  gone,  disap 
peared  like  this  phantom  of  a  boat.  The  new  idols  of 
his  foolish  imagination  had  taken  themselves  away  and 
with  them  had  flown  desire.  Blank  waste  remained,  like 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  251 

these  fog-swept  waters  through  which  he  was  plunging, 
wallowing,  groaning.  The  voices  of  the  world  struck 
muffled  on  his  deadened  ears,  moaning,  as  ghosts  might 
moan  in  the  desert  places  of  a  new  world.  Faith  ?  Faith 
had  faded  with  the  streak  of  dawn.  There  was  nothing 
in  his  mind  but  the  old  kaleidoscope  of  antic  men  and 
women.  .  .  . 

"  Well  —  you  been  drunk,  I  callate." 

A  man  clothed  in  oil-skins  was  leaning  over  the  side  of 
the  seiner.  The  dirty  dory  in  which  he  stood  bobbed  up 
and  down.  Jack  looked  at  him  and  laughed  vacantly. 

"  I  suppose  so !     Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  Ashore  on  Big  Hog  Back,  and  if  I  hadn't  seen  you 
from  the  light,  I  guess  you'd  been  buried  here." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  Jack  asked,  trying  to  move  his  stiff 
limbs.  "  Give  me  a  drink  —  I'm  cold  clear  through." 

"  I  guess  you  had  enough  of  that  before  you  went  to 
sea  in  that  rig,"  the  man  answered  cautiously. 

"  Well,  don't  give  me  a  drink  then,"  Jack  retorted 
glumly.  "But  take  me  ashore  —  whereabouts  is  your 
old  sand-spit,  anyway  ? >; 


BOOK  HI 
MANHOOD 


CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  sultry  even  in  Hodder  and  Kimball's  offices  on 
the  thirteenth  floor  of  the  Nassau  Street  building.  The 
senior  member  of  the  law  firm  had  been  out  of  town  for 
the  last  month ;  the  junior  member  was  in  Europe  in 
search  of  rest.  On  this  Saturday  afternoon  Jack  Pem- 
berton  was  alone  in  the  office.  The  clerks,  and  the  two 
other  young  lawyers  associated  with  Hodder  and  Kim- 
ball,  had  fled  to  the  seashore  for  a  little  respite  from 
the  heat  of  early  September.  Jack  had  moved  his  desk 
to  the  open  window,  in  the  hope  of  waylaying  a  stray 
puff  of  air.  A  long,  typewritten  manuscript  lay  on  the 
desk  before  him.  He  pushed  it  to  one  side  and  took  up 
a  voluminous  letter  from  Stevenson  that  he  had  already 
read.  There  was  an  unusual  note  of  depression  in  it. 

"  It  isn't  any  bonanza  I'm  urging  you  to  take.  To  tell 
the  truth,  I  want  you,  and  I  am  afraid  I  am  asking  you 
to  join  us  against  your  best  interests.  This  panic  has 
struck  my  father  between  wind  and  water.  He  had  just 
about  got  matters  where  he  wanted  them,  when  the  bad 
times  came.  Now  it  isn't  a  question  of  the  road's  paying 
anything  to  him  and  his  friends,  who  own  the  stock. 
It's  nip  and  tuck  to  pay  the  interest  on  the  bonds  and 
keep  out  of  the  courts.  Between  ourselves,  the  Iowa 
and  Northern  is  in  pretty  bad  shape.  But  if  you  like  a 

255 


256  THE   KEAL   WOULD 

fight,  we  can  accommodate  you.  ...  I  may  be  East 
this  winter,  and  I  will  explain  what  we  are  doing.  .  .  . 
Little  Black  got  that  job  at  Iowa  City.  He's  happy  —  " 

Jack  laid  the  letter  aside,  and  resumed  his  study  of 
the  typewritten  document.  That  was  concerned  with 
the  most  considerable  piece  of  business  which  he  had 
yet  had  intrusted  to  him.  Oddly  enough,  it  had  some 
slight  connection  with  Stevenson  ;  for  when  the  broker 
age  firm  of  Greenacre  and  Co.  had  assigned,  certain  bonds 
of  the  Iowa  and  Northern  had  appeared  as  a  not  incon 
siderable  item  in  the  assets  of  the  firm.  At  the  time  of 
Greenacre  and  Co.'s  assignment,  he  had  helped  Mr.  Kim- 
ball  unravel  the  snarl  of  the  firm's  affairs. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  summed  up  the  his 
tory  of  the  case.  The  man  Greenacre  had  been  con 
nected  with  the  old  firm  of  Boston  bankers,  —  Lord, 
Mather,  &  Greenacre.  The  methods  of  this  reputable  firm, 
whose  sign  had  grown  faded  and  rusty  in  the  sixty  years 
it  had  hung  over  the  windows  of  their  State  Street  offices, 
had  cramped  the  ambitions  of  young  Greenacre,  nephew 
of  General  Mather's  partner,  and  he  had  moved  to  New 
York  in  the  eighties  to  find  a  larger  field  for  his  opera 
tions.  There  he  had  had  an  almost  instant  success,  and 
when  Ned  Mather  had  finally  removed  himself  from 
Harvard  and  chosen  to  live  in  New  York,  Greenacre 
had  taken  him  into  his  office,  thus  allying  himself  more 
closely  with  the  Boston  banking  house.  Then,  a  few 
years  later,  Frank  Mason  had  found  a  berth  in  the  same 
office.  In  a  very  short  time  these  two  young  men  had 
become  partners  with  Greenacre,  at  least  in  name.  The 


THE  REAL   WORLD  257 

dishing  and  the  Mather  interests  furnished  a  certain 
solid  reputation  for  the  operations  of  the  firm. 

Then  followed,  as  Jack  knew  thoroughly,  the  specula 
tive  career  of  the  house  of  Greenacre  and  Co.,  which  had 
closed  in  the  office  of  Hodder  and  Kiinball.  When  the 
smash  came,  the  firm's  affairs  were  so  closely  interwoven 
with  family  relationships  that  their  settlement  had  re 
solved  itself  pretty  largely  into  an  adjustment  between 
E.  P.  Gushing  and  General  Mather.  And,  as  Jack  also 
knew,  the  Mathers  had  got  the  worst  of  it.  General 
Mather  had  paid  liberally  for  his  son's  business  training, 
and  in  return  had  been  forced  to  take  these  Iowa  and 
Northern  bonds  for  which  there  was  no  ready  market, 
while  E.  P.  Gushing  had  skilfully  covered  himself  from 
any  large  loss  before  the  assignment.  The  details  of  the 
transaction  were  embedded  in  the  long  typewritten  manu 
script,  which  Jack  had  helped  to  prepare. 

He  laid  the  document  aside,  and  knitting  his  hands 
behind  his  head,  allowed  his  mind  to  wander  over  the 
human  questions  suggested  by  the  dull  sheets.  What 
had  happened  to  the  engagement  between  Frank  Mason 
and  Miss  Mather  ?  It  had  dragged  on  now  for  over  six 
years,  and  even  if  it  had  survived  the  wreck  of  Greenacre 
and  Co.,  and  the  Jew  dealing  of  Gushing  in  the  settle 
ment,  could  it  survive  the  latest  manifestation  of  the 
young  man's  worthlessness  ?  That  was  a  recent  develop 
ment  of  the  failure,  and,  as  Kimball  was  in  Europe,  it 
had  fallen  upon  Jack  to  take  charge  of  it.  It  was  partly 
on  this  account  that  he  was  to  be  found  here  in  the  sultry 
office  on  a  September  Saturday  afternoon.  Was  there  a 


258  THE  KEAL   WORLD 

loophole  of  escape  for  young  Mason,  honorable,  or  even 
legally  possible,  without  having  recourse  to  his  rich 
brother-in-law  ?  After  a  weary  day  of  investigation, 
during  which  he  had  reviewed  the  entire  history  of 
Greenacre  and  Co.,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  was  none.  Either  Gushing  must  pay  a  considerable 
sum,  or  his  brother-in-law  must  take  the  consequences  of 
a  criminal  act.  He  hoped  sincerely  that  Miss  Mather 
had  broken  with  the  fellow,  and  would  no  longer  suffer 
for  him. 

He  smiled  as  he  recalled  the  attitude  of  Ned  Mather 
during  the  protracted  investigation  of  Greenacre  and 
Co.'s  affairs.  It  had  been  almost  impossible  to  find  him, 
especially  when  the  polo  season  opened;  and  when  he 
was  induced  to  attend  the  meetings  in  Hodder  and 
Kimball's  office,  he  showed  an  astounding  ignorance  of 
what  his  firm  had  been  doing.  His  face  wore  the  passive, 
sad  expression  of  the  renaissance  portrait,  accented  by  a 
sardonic  droop  to  the  mouth,  and  his  bearing  with  the 
lawyers  and  creditors  was  haughty.  The  personal  lesson 
he  drew  from  the  experience  was  an  amusing  one. 

"I  told  the  General,"  he  confided  to  Jack  on  one  of 
these  occasions,  "that  he  would  save  money  by  setting 
me  up  on  a  ranch.  Roger  is  no  star  in  business,  but  he's 
never  cost  the  family  what  this  will.  The  General  prob 
ably  agrees  with  me  now ;  but  he  is  an  obstinate  man. 
He  can't  surmount  his  prejudices  in  favor  of  hustling. 
He  doesn't  understand  the  inevitable  growth  of  a  leisure 
class  in  American  society,  but  this  will  open  his  eyes, 
perhaps." 


THE   REAL  WORLD  259 

Mather  had  displayed  unexpected  flashes  of  shrewd 
ness,  also. 

"Greenacre  is  a  rascal,"  Mather  told  Kimball  and 
Pemberton  one  afternoon,  after  a  meeting  during  which 
he  had  apparently  been  asleep.  "  Mason  was  a  tool,  and 
I,  a  fool ;  but  Greenacre  was  plain  bad.  When  Cushing's 
steel  business  was  incorporated,  he  and  Gushing  first  got 
together.  They  are  no  saints ! " 

Jack  and  the  older  lawyer  came  to  the  same  conclusion, 
and  though  the  new  development  in  the  case,  which 
involved  Mason,  shook  his  faith  in  the  latter's  innocence, 
he  was  inclined  to  suspend  judgment.  Ned  Mather  and 
the  General  were  the  only  figures  in  the  affair  who  had 
left  an  agreeable  impression  upon  the  young  lawyer. 

His  connection  with  the  case  had  been  distasteful  to 
him;  but  Kimball,  whose  health  had  already  begun  to 
break,  had  leaned  on  him  more  and  more.  The  other 
young  men  in  the  office  had  envied  him  the  preference 
which  Kimball  had  shown,  and  had  predicted  for  him  a 
rapid  rise  in  the  office,  especially  when  Kimball  had  gone 
abroad,  leaving  Jack  in  charge  of  much  of  his  business. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  this  fair  prospect,  Jack  did  not  dismiss 
Stevenson's  invitation  lightly.  The  chance  for  a  good  fight, 
even  a  losing  one,  attracted  him  ;  still  more,  the  vision  of 
a  new  field,  where  men  touched  one  another  more  inti 
mately  than  in  the  routine  practice  of  Hodder  and  Kim- 
ball's  office.  Stevenson  and  he  had  talked  of  this  plan 
ever  since  their  first  year  at  the  Law  School,  but  some 
thing  had  always  intervened  to  deter  him  from  going  West. 
Now  it  was  Kimball's  absence,  as  much  as  anything. 


260  THE   REAL  WORLD 

He  wrote  one  or  two  letters,  then  closed  his  desk  and 
left  the  silent  building.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to 
do  before  dinner,  and  to  waste  the  time  he  strolled  up 
town  through  the  interminable  thoroughfare  of  shops. 
The  clatter  of  the  city  dulled  his  thoughts.  He  became 
a  machine.  At  the  proper  time  he  would  know  that  he 
was  hungry,  and  satisfy  his  hunger.  Then  he  would  put 
himself  upon  his  bed  and  in  due  time  fall  asleep.  To 
morrow  he  would  rise  and  return  to  the  Nassau  Street 
offices,  and  as  problems  arose  in  the  course  of  the  day 
he  would  solve  them,  —  his  mind  putting  forth  a  certain 
idea  in  response  to  a  certain  stimulus,  as  a  machine  lifts 
a  long  arm  and  then  drops  it.  The  next  day,  the  same ; 
and  the  next,  and  the  next.  This  was  life.  .  .  . 

He  liked  the  down-town  office  buildings,  the  wholesale 
stores,  and  banks,  even  the  roar  of  the  drays  and  the 
turmoil  of  men  in  the  heat  of  their  affairs.  All  this 
sweat  of  life  appealed  to  his  machine  nature.  That  was 
repeated,  too,  day  by  day,  for  all  the  years  and  the 
centuries :  that  made  existence,  as  we  know  it,  he  said 
to  himself. 

He  liked  it  less  as  the  character  of  the  thoroughfare 
changed,  first  about  Fourteenth  Street  to  large  retail  shops 
and  the  cheaper  marts  of  feminine  fashion,  and  then 
at  Twenty-third  Street,  to  more  luxurious  shops.  Be 
yond  Twenty-third  Street,  the  city  was  given  over  to 
luxury,  pleasure,  ostentation.  The  play  of  man  pleased 
him  less  than  his  work.  They  rushed  up  here  —  the 
fortunate  ones  —  each  day,  as  soon  as  they  could  escape 
from  the  sweat  down  below.  And  the  sweat  of  the 


THE  REAL   WORLD  261 

machine-made  work  went  on  more  fiercely  as  man  strug 
gled  harder  and  harder  to  get  up  here.  .  .  . 

The  business  of  the  day  came  back  to  his  mind  in  the 
shape  of  the  persons  concerned, — Ned  Mather,  the  old 
General,  Isabelle  Mather,  the  Cushings,  Stevenson.  In 
the  dead  air  of  the  city  they  seemed  to  move  wearily, 
mechanically.  The  girl  alone  had  animation,  —  the 
woman  whose  face  he  had  seen  flushed  with  joy  and 
pride  because  she  loved  Frank  Mason.  Some  day  he 
should  have  to  see  Mason  and  tell  him  that  he  had  been 
weak  once  too  often.  The  girl  had  not  married  him ; 
perhaps  she  had  learned  to  know  his  nature  before  this. 
So  much  the  better  !  .  Now  it  was  time  to  dine. 


CHAPTER    II 

"  HELLO,  Jack,  if  it  is  Jack ! " 

Pemberton  looked  suspiciously  at  the  woman  who  ac 
costed  him  at  the  exit  of  a  Broadway  theatre. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  cautiously. 

"  Go  long,  you  know  me  —  Stella  ?  I  was  with  your 
brother  up  Harlem  way.  Remember  ?  " 

"Perfectly,"  Jack  replied,  with  a  slight  increase  of 
animation.  "  How  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  Up  and  down  —  mostly  down,  I  guess." 

She  seemed  anxious  to  detain  him,  and  Jack  suggested 
that  they  walk  on.  He  was  aware  that  people  were  look 
ing  at  them ;  three  years  of  New  York  had  taught  him 
to  read  this  form  of  curiosity. 

"  Have  you  seen  Steve  lately  ?  "  Stella  asked,  pulling 
a  small  cape  about  her  shoulders  and  assuming  her  theat 
rical  stride. 

"  Not  for  about  a  year.  He  left  New  York,  you  know. 
Got  a  place  in  Cleveland.  He  doesn't  write  often." 

"  You  didn't  know,  then,  that  he  is  in  trouble  ?  " 

"  No,"  Jack  answered  slowly,  looking  at  Stella  with 
fresh  suspicion.  "  He  usually  lets  me  know  on  such  oc 
casions." 

The  last  one  had  cost  him  two  hundred  dollars. 
262 


THE   REAL   WORLD  263 

"He's  been  pulled  —  last  Monday,  and  I  guess  it's 
awful  bad." 

They  were  passing  a  small  restaurant,  and  Jack,  who 
foresaw  that  the  tale  might  be  a  long  one,  invited  Stella 
to  have  supper  with  him.  She  followed  him  rather 
timidly,  and  ordered  her  supper  with  an  interested,  but 
subdued,  air.  She  had  grown  stout,  and  her  face  was 
slightly  flabby.  The  plain  black  skirt  and  soiled  silk 
waist  had  the  air  of  being  sole  possessions.  The  straw 
hat,  in  spite  of  some  new  velvet,  was  shabby.  She  took 
this  off,  as  if  conscious  of  its  defects,  and,  having  patted 
her  hair,  looked  dumbly  across  the  table  at  Jack. 

"  How  did  you  learn  this  ?  "  Jack  asked. 

"  He  came  to  my  room  when  he  brought  up  in  New 
York.  I'm  living  with  Liddy  over  on  Sixth  Avenue. 
We've  been  there  —  " 

"  So  Steve  is  in  New  York  ?  "  Jack  interrupted. 

"Yes." 

"  How  long  ?  " 

"  Most  a  month,  I  guess,  before  they  tracked  him." 

"  Who  tracked  him  ?  " 

"  The  detectives." 

Jack  ceased  questioning  the  woman,  who  grew  more 
timid,  and  ate  furtively  with  an  awkward  display  of  her 
good  manners.  He  hesitated  before  probing  farther,  a 
sickening  feeling  of  impending  misfortune  tempting 
him  to  put  the  woman  off,  to  escape  the  unpleasant  truth 
as  long  as  he  could.  Finally,  as  Stella  ceased  to  eat 
and  looked  at  him  expectantly,  he  said :  — 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 


264  THE  REAL  WORLD 

"  Steve  told  me  to  see  you  as  soon  as  I  could  —  he 
thought  maybe  you  could  do  something.  But  I  lost  the 
address,  and  I  was  waiting  for  a  chance  to  see  him 
again  —  " 

She  rambled  on  disconnectedly,  while  Jack  thought. 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  he  asked  finally. 

"  I  don't  just  know,"  Stella  replied,  dropping  her  eyes. 
"  Money,  I  guess  —  he  took  some  —  he'd  a  long  talk  about 
it  —  but  I  guess  that's  it.  It's  generally  that  with  Steve." 

"Yes,  it's  generally  that  with  Steve,"  Jack  repeated. 
"How  much?" 

"  A  lot  —  more  than  ever  before,"  Stella  admitted 
slowly. 

Jack  laughed. 

"  You  will  do  something  ?  "  Stella  asked  anxiously. 

"  What  do  you  care  whether  I  do  or  not  ?  "  Jack  asked 
roughly. 

"  Of  course  I  care,"  Stella  cried,  bridling,  and  for  the 
first  time  showing  confidence.  "Steve's  been  hard  on 
me,  left  me  when  I  was  in  trouble,  but  I  don't  want  him 
to  go  to  prison.  Do  you  want  your  brother  in  the 
penitentiary  ?  " 

Jack  moved  nervously  at  the  woman's  plain  words. 
Seeing  her  advantage,  Stella  pushed  on. 

"  Steve's  foolish,  —  foolisher  than  most.  He  always 
will  have  a  good  time  whether  he's  got  the  stuff  or  not ; 
but  he  is  generous  and  freehanded  when  he's  got  any 
thing.  He's  his  own  worst  enemy ! "  she  proclaimed 
finally,  as  a  convincing  argument.  "  I  often  said  to 
him,  '  You're  nobody's  enemy,  Steve,  but  your  own ! ' ' 


THE  REAL  WORLD  265 

Her  plea  had  little  apparent  effect  upon  Jack,  who 
played  absently  with  the  forks  and  spoons  on  the  table. 
Stella  exclaimed :  — 

"  You  won't  let  your  brother  go  to  prison ! " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do,"  Jack  answered  irri 
tably,  rising  from  the  table.  Stella  hastily  put  on  her 
hat  and  followed  him  closely  into  the  street.  She  seemed 
determined  not  to  let  .him  escape  without  some  promise. 

"  What's  he  done  for  you  ? "  Jack  asked  abruptly, 
when  they  had  reached  the  sidewalk. 

Stella  reddened  and  did  not  answer.  Jack  continued 
brusquely :  — 

"  What  did  he  do  when  your  child  came  ?  " 

"He  couldn't  do  much,  —  his  pay  was  all  tied  up, — 
but  he  sent  me  a  little  money  now  and  then,  when  he 
had  anything,  and  he  used  to  bring  the  baby  beautiful 
presents.  Steve's  generous.  Nobody  can  say  Steve  ain't 
generous." 

She  clung  to  her  idea  of  Steve's  magnanimity,  esti 
mating,  in  feminine  fashion,  good-will  as  a  large  part  of 
generosity. 

"Very  generous!"  Jack  repeated  ironically.  "He 
left  you  and  went  to  Cleveland.  Did  he  send  you  any 
thing  ?  " 

"  You  know  he  couldn't  stay  here !  He  was  pestered 
with  debts,  couldn't  walk  out  on  the  streets,  and  the 
folks  he  owed  money  to  bothered  his  firm.  What  could 
he  do  ?  Steve  ain't  as  successful  as  some  men  who  look 
after  themselves  mighty  well!"  she  concluded  sus 
piciously. 


266  THE   REAL  WORLD 

"  Where's  your  child  ?  " 

"  Up  country  with  Liddy's  folks." 

"  Do  you  ever  want  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  I  had  it  back  last  fall  for  a  time,  but  I  couldn't  do 
nothing  with  it,"  she  explained  heavily. 

"My  dear  Stella,"  Jack  resumed,  after  they  had 
walked  a  block  in  silence,  "Steve  is  absolutely  worth 
less.  He  is  one  of  the  weakest  and  most  selfish  men 
you  have  ever  seen.  It's  the  luckiest  thing  that  ever 
happened  to  you  that  he  hadn't  the  decency  to  marry 
you.  Now,  I  advise  you  to  shake  him  once  for  all,  and 
do  the  best  you  can  with  the  child.  He  will  never  do  any 
thing  for  it  or  for  you,  —  and  he  will  always  think  he  is 
doing  something,  or  that  the  world  is  so  hard  on  him  he's 
never  had  a  chance.  Take  my  advice,  and  thank  God 
he's  locked  up  where  he  can't  trouble  you." 

"  So  you're  going  to  let  your  brother  go  to  prison ! " 
Stella  retorted  sullenly.  "  You're  a  nice  one !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  am  going  to  do,"  Jack  said 
wearily.  "  I  shan't  know  to-night,  so  you  had  better  let 
me  see  you  home." 

They  walked  another  block,  and  then  Stella  said  timidly, 
"  I  guess  you  needn't  trouble  to  come  along  any  further ; 
I've  got  an  errand  —  " 

The  late  passers-by  turned  their  heads,  stared  curiously 
at  the  two,  and  then  hurried  on.  Jack  buttoned  up  his 
overcoat. 

"  Good  night,  Stella.  Remember  what  I  said  about 
Steve.  It's  true  —  dead  true,  every  word." 

"  Mayn't  I  come  to  see  you  to-morrow  ? "  she  asked. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  267 

"  Maybe  you'll  feel  different.  I'll  go  to  your  office  any 
time  you  say,  and  then  I  can  see  Steve  and  make  him 
easy." 

"  Not  at  the  office,"  Jack  replied ;  "  I'll  meet  you  where 
we  had  supper,  after  the  theatre." 

Stella  started  up  the  cross-street.  Jack  watched 
her  for  a  block,  and  then  strolled  on  to  his  boarding- 
house. 

The  next  morning  he  had  not  made  up  his  mind  whether 
he  should  pay  any  attention  to  Stella's  tale  or  not.  Dur 
ing  the  forenoon,  however,  he  was  forced  to  make  some 
decision.  An  emissary  from  Steve,  in  the  form  of  one  of 
the  scavengers  who  haunt  criminal  courts,  called  upon 
him.  He  was  young,  bald,  sallow,  and  dirty.  He  laid 
his  card  upon  Jack's  desk  with  a  flourish.  It  read,  G. 
Linepecker. 

"  I  have  been  requested  by  my  client,  Mr.  Pemberton, 
to  confer  with  you." 

Jack  eyed  the  cheap  little  lawyer,  and  asked,  "  How 
much  is  it  this  time,  Mr.  Linepecker  ?  " 

The  criminal  lawyer,  understanding  the  professional 
competency  of  his  client's  brother,  replied  without  hesi 
tation  :  — 

"  Thirty -two  hundred  and  fifty -six  dollars  on  the  origi 
nal  draft,  and  court  expenses,  fees,  incidentals,  you  under 
stand."  He  waved  his  hand  vaguely. 

"  Say  thirty-seven  hundred,"  Jack  suggested,  with  a 
smile.  '•'  And  the  charge  ?  " 

"  Embezzlement." 

The  little  lawyer  looked  at  the  other  young  man,  and 


268  THE    KEAL   WORLD 

then  glanced  about  the  well-appointed  office.  After  allow 
ing  Jack  a  decent  time  for  reflection,  he  added :  — 

"  They  expect  to  get  the  requisition  papers  to-morrow." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Linepecker.  You  may  tell  your  client 
I  will  see  him  this  noon.  Good  morning." 

And  the  little  lawyer,  who  had  planned  a  more  com 
plex  method  of  arrangement,  found  himself  in  the  outer 
office. 

The  talk  between  the  two  brothers  was  brief.  Jack's 
one  object  was  to  find  out  all  the  facts,  and  Steve,  who 
was  in  a  very  nervous  condition,  was  only  too  eager  to  tell 
his  story.  He  had  been  given  the  draft  by  the  treasurer 
of  the  company,  in  a  somewhat  irregular  fashion,  —  Jack 
surmised  that  it  was  for  purposes  which  could  not  con 
veniently  appear  on  the  books  of  the  company,  —  and  had 
cashed  it,  while  drunk.  When,  after  a  few  days,  he  had 
found  himself  in  New  York,  he  possessed  neither  draft 
nor  money.  Then,  foolishly,  he  had  gone  into  hiding  at 
Stella's  rooms. 

"  But  if  they  try  to  push  me  into  prison,  I'll  make  it 
hot  for  'em.  I'll  tell  what  they  drew  the  draft  for.  I'll 
make  a  stink  —  " 

Jack  waved  his  hand  in  cool  disgust. 

"  Have  they  an  office  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

Having  found  out  that  the  President  and  General 
Manager  of  the  Celina  Iron  Works  had  his  office  in  New 
York,  Jack  next  went  to  find  him.  On  the  door  of  the 
suite  of  offices  had  been  painted  in  large  letters  above 
The  Celina  Wire  Works,  THE  GUSHING  STEEL  WORKS 
COMPANY.  The  name  recalled  to  Jack's  mind  a  detail 


THE  REAL  WORLD  269 

of  the  Greenacre  failure,  in  which  E.  P.  Clashing  was 
also  interested. 

The  manager,  to  whom  Jack  explained  his  errand, 
seemed  anxious  "  to  arrange  the  matter,"  as  he  phrased 
it.  Pemberton  was  a  very  able  business  man,  he  said, 
valuable  to  his  company,  and  they  had  done  what  they 
could  for  him  in  New  York,  until  his  habits  had  become 
too  bad  to  endure.  Then  they  had  started  him  afresh  at 
the  Cleveland  agency,  in  hopes  that  he  would  sober 
down.  But  this  matter  of  the  draft  was  too  serious  to 
pass  over ;  moreover,  he  could  not  if  he  would,  for  he 
was  responsible  to  the  Gushing  Company  board  of  direc 
tors.  In  reply  to  Jack's  question,  he  admitted  that  if 
the  money  were  returned,  legal  action  would  be  stopped ; 
indeed,  if  a  considerable  portion  of  the  money  were  re 
turned,  they  would  not  press  the  matter,  Pemberton's 
long  connection  with  the  business  being  taken  into  con 
sideration,  their  dislike  of  publicity,  etc.,  etc.  There 
ensued  a  long  pause,  which  Jack  broke. 

"  May  I  ask  what  is  the  amount  you  would  accept  ?  " 

The  manager  looked  the  young  man  over  keenly. 

"  You  are  a  lawyer  ?  " 

Jack  nodded. 

"  On  a  salary,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Jack  nodded  again. 

"  Suppose  we  say  one  half  ?  "  he  suggested  blithely. 

Instead  of  replying  directly,  Jack  asked  :  — 

"  There  were  circumstances  connected  with  the  use  of 
this  money  that  make  it  convenient  for  your  company  to 
have  the  matter  dropped  ?  " 


270  THE  REAL   WORLD 

This  opened  a  long  discussion,  during  which  Jack 
found  that  the  company  had  other  charges  against  Steve 
of  misappropriation  of  money. 

"  You  needn't  think  you've  got  a  club,"  the  manager 
concluded  roughly.  "  I've  given  your  brother  good  terms, 
and  I'll  let  you  have  two  days  to  make  up  your  mind." 

"If  we  settle  the  matter,"  Jack  replied  curtly,  "it 
will  be  for  the  entire  amount.  I  don't  care  to  take  your 
terms.  As  for  the  other  charges,  you  know  well  enough 
that  they  won't  stand  in  law,  and  I  doubt  if  ethically 
they're  sound.  Your  company  knew  what  my  brother 
was  doing  with  some  of  that  money,  junketing  firms  and 
individuals  you  hoped  to  get  orders  from.  You  kept 
him  on  because  he  was  a  good  man  to  do  that  kind  of 
thing.  People  like  to  paint  the  town  with  him,  and  he 
knows  how  to  fix  men  without  offending  them.  So  far 
as  your  company  is  concerned,  I  don't  give  a  damn 
whether  you  lose  the  money  or  not,  or  rather  I  should 
like  to  see  you  lose  that  and  a  lot  more.  It  comes  down 
to  the  question  whether  I  want  to  see  my  brother  in 
prison  or  not." 

"  Just  that ! "  the  manager  assented,  with  a  shrug  for 
Jack's  opinion  of  his  company's  methods. 

"  And  I  have  forty-eight  hours  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  said." 

When  he  left  the  manager's  office,  Jack  was  no  nearer 
a  solution  of  the  question  than  before.  During  the  after 
noon,  while  he  was  busy  in  his  office,  his  mind  reverted 
to  Steve's  case;  and  he  carried  it,  still  unsolved,  to  his 
lonely  dinner  at  a  restaurant.  Should  he  pay  ?  Could 


THE   REAL   WORLD  271 

he  pay  ?  He  could  get  the  money.  His  firm  would 
advance  him  something,  Stevenson  would  lend  him 
some  more,  and  he  had  a  few  hundreds  of  dollars  in 
the  bank.  It  would  be  placing  a  very  large  mortgage 
on  his  life,  one  that  would  weight  him  heavily  just  now, 
when  he  needed  every  sinew  for  the  mad  struggle  in 
New  York.  Moreover,  it  would  make  it  impossible  for 
him  to  do  what  he  planned  for  Mary,  for  his  mother, 
who  were  more  or  less  discontented  in  their  position  at 
Coffin's  Falls.  Of  course  he  knew  what  their  wish  would 
be  —  anything  to  save  Steve,  to  save  the  family  disgrace. 

He  came  to  this  theme  with  his  coffee,  and  pondered 
while  he  sipped  it  and  watched  the  people  around  him. 
As  a  lawyer  he  had  reason  to  know  what  strength,  as  a 
human  motive,  this  desire  to  avoid  disgrace  had  with 
people  in  his  position.  It  kept  two  adulterous  people 
in  the  bonds  of  matrimony;  it  drove  a  young  girl  to 
fulfil  the  void  engagement  of  her  heart,  made  in  igno 
rance  and  trust ;  it  forced  the  old  to  beggar  themselves 
and  their  dependents  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  public 
comment  upon  a  worthless  child.  His  judgment  resented 
the  folly  of  it ;  his  heart  hated  the  hypocrisy  of  it.  In 
this  queer  world  of  shadows,  of  wooden  dummies,  of 
empty  cries,  of  shadowy  desires  and  hopes  and  fears,  it 
seemed  to  him  some  daylight  might  shine,  should  people 
be  but  honest  to  themselves,  to  others.  And  his  pro 
fession  was  concerned  very  largely  with  the  dishonest 
compromises  men  make  to  avoid  disgrace. 

Clearly,  as  he  judged  himself,  as  he  judged  the  world, 
Steve  ought  to  take  the  penalty  of  his  weak  acts.  If 


272  THE   REAL   WORLD 

there  were  such  a  thing  as  responsibility,  if  there  were 
any  law  in  this  whirligig  of  illusion,  man  must  pay  for 
his  acts,  and  pay  what  society  demanded.  Why  should 
one  escape  and  another  pay  ?  He  need  but  glance  at  the 
evening  paper  to  read  the  names  of  those  who  paid.  And 
he  had  been  spending  his  day  in  seeking  means  by  which 
one  favored  individual  could  escape  from  the  conse 
quences  of  his  dishonor.  No !  that  was  the  injustice 
that  would  wreck  the  present  kind  of  civilization  which 
man  gloried  in;  that  was  the  injustice  that  made  life 
insane,  incomprehensible. 

Instead  of  going  to  the  theatre,  as  he  had  intended,  he 
strolled  about  the  streets,  thinking,  —  thinking  vaguely 
and  comprehensively,  —  as  he  could  think  best  within 
sound  of  the  human  roar  of  the  city,  within  touch  of 
the  passing  multitude.  If  Steve  went  to  prison,  within 
forty-eight  hours  every  man  or  woman  he  knew  would 
have  a  chance  to  know  the  fact  and  to  say  his  say  about 
him.  To  a  young  man,  no  matter  how  well  he  might 
stand  with  his  neighbors,  this  was  not  only  unpleasant, 
but  harmful.  Yet  the  thought  of  it  merely  strayed 
through  his  mind,  and  was  dismissedt  contemptuously. 
He  had  lived  through  worse  things  than  scandal !  They 
might  say  their  say,  and  he  would  outlive  their  chatter. 

His  mother  and  sister,  his  uncle  and  aunt,  would  suffer. 
Where  was  his  affection,  they  would  cry,  accusingly,  — 
he,  the  only  strong  one,  to  let  the  weak  go  down  without 
stretching  out  his  hand  ?  Had  he  any  affection  ?  Not 
much,  it  must  be  confessed.  He  was  not  a  person  of  easy 
affections,  and  he  did  not  admit  conventional  claims.  His 


THE   REAL   WORLD  273 

life  had  been  solitary,  and  he  had  not  got  the  habit  of 
easily  flaming  sympathy.  He  had  never  liked  to  be  with 
Steve  for  any  considerable  length  of  time,  and  he  had  a 
thorough  contempt  for  his  way  of  life.  Indeed,  he  had 
more  affection  for  Stella  —  that  weak  and  faded  soul  — 
little  as  he  had  seen  her,  than  he  had  ever  had  for  Steve. 
So,  if  he  stretched  out  the  hand,  it  would  be  in  pity 
for  Stella,  for  his  mother  and  sister,  for  all  the  weak  ones, 
who  would  weep  their  weak  and  futile  tears.  .  .  . 

He  must  decide  before  he  saw  Stella  at  the  restaurant, 
and  he  would  decide,  not  let  himself  be  pushed  by  some 
impulse  this  way  or  that.  And  that  decision  came,  little 
by  little,  as  he  tramped  the  crowded  streets,  the  hard 
lines  of  determination  forming  themselves  from  the  float 
ing  impressions,  the  vague  feelings  for  right  and  justice 
and  order,  that  make  the  nebulous  world  in  which  man 
lives,  and  as  they  shaped  themselves,  he  felt  a  certain 
conscious  relief  and  calm. 

He  would  not  interfere. 

Stella  was  waiting  at  the  corner,  studying  the  display 
of  lobsters  and  game  in  the  window  of  the  restaurant. 
The  pheasants,  the  empty  champagne  bottles,  the  big  red 
shellfish,  had  a  certain  symbolical  significance  to  her :  she 
was  reflecting. 

Jack,  who  had  noticed  her  interest  in  the  window, 
ordered  the  best  supper  he  could  think  of,  and  while  they 
waited,  they  talked  about  the  theatres,  especially  about  a 
new  ballet  that  was  being  imported  from  London  at  great 
expense.  When  the  supper  came,  Stella  devoted  herself 


274  THE   KEAL    WORLD 

to  her  fish,  and  game.  Finally,  when  she  had  satisfied  the 
first  relish  of  her  appetite,  she  looked  across  the  table  at 
Jack. 

"  You've  seen  Steve  ?  n 

«  Yes." 

"  Is  it  very  bad  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  No  way  out  ?  " 

"  One  way  —  they'll  let  him  off  if  a  part  of  the  money 
is  paid  back." 

Stella's  eyes  fell.     She  knew  that  it  was  a  large  sum. 

"  Can  you  raise  it  ?  "  she  asked  at  length. 

"I  might,"  Jack  answered,  and  she  waited,  her  lips 
open  in  eager  anticipation. 

"But,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  shan't  try.  Steve's  got  to 
take  his  punishment  this  time." 

Stella  began  to  eat,  mechanically,  with  little  appetite. 

"  So,  he's  got  to  go  to  prison  ?  "  she  asked,  and  then, 
with  rising  voice,  "So  you're  going  to  let  him  go  to 
prison !  You're  a  nice  brother,  you  are." 

The  people  at  the  next  table  looked  at  the  two  with 
interest,  but  Jack  was  too  much  absorbed  to  notice  them. 
He  tried  to  calm  the  woman,  to  give  her  his  reasons  in 
the  simplest  form,  and  she  listened  truculently. 

"  I  had  rather  do  what  I  can  for  you,  and  Steve's  child," 
he  concluded.  "I  can  do  a  little  of  Steve's  work  for 
him,  and  later,  when  he's  had  his  lesson,  perhaps  he'll 
try  to  be  a  little  more  of  a  man  and  do  it  himself." 

"I  don't  want  your  dirty  money,"  Stella  cried.  "I 
wish  I  had  the  ten  dollars  you  gave  me  yesterday.  I'd 


THE   REAL   WORLD  275 

rather  — "  But  a  threatening  look  from  Jack  calmed 
her,  and  she  contented  herself  with  tears,  ineffectively 
mopping  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  As  you  like,"  Jack  answered  impatiently.  "  You 
must  take  it  for  the  baby,  anyway.  But  we'll  see  about 
that  later.  Perhaps  you'll  feel  differently  then." 

"  I'll  never  feel  any  different,"  she  shot  out  angrily. 
"  I  ain't  a  cold-blooded  brute,  who'll  see  his  own  family 
in  trouble,  and  talk  and  talk,  and  reason  up  and  down 
hill.  I  have  some  feelings.  Steve  has  some  feelings, 
too.  He  wouldn't  let  a  friend,  let  alone  a  brother,  go  to 
prison  if  he  could  help  it." 

"  The  trouble  is  he  can  never  help  anything,"  Jack 
interposed  wearily. 

"  Well,  I'll  stick  to  him,  if  he  is  down,"  she  ended,  and 
pushed  back  her  chair.  "  I  don't  want  nothing  more. 
Nor  of  you,  either.  Steve's  got  a  few  friends,  and  I 
guess  I'll  see  if  some  folks  haven't  more  heart  than  a 
brother." 

She  flitted  up  the  street,  tossing  the  last  taunt  over 
her  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  III 

JACK  folded  the  newspaper  and  laid  it  to  one  side. 
The  announcement  of  Steve's  embezzlement  and  arrest 
was  very  brief ;  more  important  affairs  in  the  great 
metropolis  rendered  this  petty  crime  insignificant  to  the 
city  editors.  The  five-line  paragraph  was  salient  enough, 
however,  to  penetrate  to  every  town  in  the  United  States 
where  the  Pemberton  name  was  known.  It  was  a  record, 
in  a  way  more  inexpugnable  than  the  verdict  of  the 
court. 

Jack  had  spent  the  evening  before  with  his  sister, 
who  had  come  from  Coffin's  Falls  for  the  one  pur 
pose  of  inducing  him  to  raise  the  necessary  money 
and  release  Steve.  Previously  he  had  spent  a  bitter 
hour  with  Steve.  They  had  not  shaken  his  resolution ; 
but  their  entreaties,  their  reproaches,  their  distress, 
haunted  him.  When  he  had  read  the  newspaper  para 
graph  this  morning,  he  had  gone  over  the  stony  road  of 
his  resolution  once  more,  and  although  he  had  come  to 
the  same  conclusion,  his  mind  was  dull  and  sore. 

Late  in  the  morning  Mr.  Hodder  sent  for  Jack.  In 
the  private  office  of  the  senior  member  of  the  firm  were 
General  Mather  and  his  daughter.  Jack  bowed  to  the 
latter,  and  Mr.  Hodder  remarked :  — 

"  General  Mather,  Mr.  Pemberton.  Mr.  Pemberton 
276 


THE  REAL   WORLD  277 

knows  more  than  I  do  of  this  affair.  He  will  be  able 
to  answer  your  questions.  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Kimball  is 
out  of  the  country.  But  you  can  trust  Mr.  Pemberton's 
discretion  and  ability." 

After  this  introduction  there  was  a  pause,  and  Jack 
looked  at  General  Mather  with  some  curiosity.  General 
Mather  was  tall  and  lean,  almost  gaunt,  and  his  thin 
shoulders  had  begun  to  bend.  The  white  flesh  of  his 
face  was  sparsely  covered  with  a  snow-white  beard. 
Even  in  the  warm  office  he  kept  his  long  overcoat  tightly 
buttoned,  and  his  long,  thin  hands  trembled  as  from 
cold  or  the  palsy  of  age.  His  blue  eyes,  steel-blue  like 
his  daughter's,  gleamed  from  the  sunken  sockets  with 
remarkable  power.  He  was  old  and  frail  and  wasted, 
but  he  was  as  shrewd  as  ever.  When  he  spoke,  his  tones 
were  as  cold  as  his  eyes.  He  seemed  indifferent,  if  not 
annoyed,  and  Jack  could  feel  that  he  disliked  to  deal 
with  a  young  man. 

"  Can  you  tell  General  Mather  what  this  new  compli 
cation  is  which  retards  the  final  settlement  of  the  Green- 
acre  case  ?  "  the  older  lawyer  asked.  "  I  have  not  looked 
into  the  matter  since  my  return." 

"  Mr.  Kimball,  before  his  departure,  arranged  a  basis 
of  settlement  with  the  various  interests  that  was  appar 
ently  satisfactory,"  Jack  began,  rather  nervously. 

General  Mather  nodded,  and  said  gruffly :  — 

"  I  supposed  that  ended  it.  It  was  bad  enough !  But 
my  daughter  heard  from  Mrs.  Gushing  that  there  was  a 
sequel.  Just  what  is  it  ?  " 

"There  was  only  one  point  left  in  abeyance  at  the 


278  THE   EEAL   WORLD 

time  of  settlement,"  Jack  continued  slowly,  following 
the  old  man's  eyes,  "and  that,  it  was  supposed,  would 
be  privately  settled  by  the  parties  especially  inter 
ested." 

"Young  Mason's  share,"  General  Mather  filled  in 
grimly. 

Jack  nodded,  and  hesitated  in  embarrassment.  The 
tall  young  woman,  who  had  sat  motionless  all  this 
time,  leaned  forward,  and  Jack  could  feel  her  intense 
expectancy. 

"Only  yesterday,"  Jack  continued,  searching  for 
periphrases,  "  I  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Gushing,  which 
makes  it  clear  that  the  expected  arrangement  will  not 
be  possible." 

Mr.  Hodder  at  this  point  excused  himself  and  left  the 
office.  Then  the  others  breathed  more  easily. 

"I  understand  you  to  mean  that  Gushing  refuses  to 
pull  his  brother-in-law  out  of  prison,"  General  Mather 
observed  clearly. 

Miss  Mather's  lips  trembled.  She  was  on  the  point 
of  asking  a  question,  and  finally  she  summoned  her 
courage : — 

"  Where  is  he,  Mr.  Pemberton  ?  " 

Jack,  who  looked  at  her  closely  for  the  first  time, 
answered  gently :  — 

"  His  friends  have  thought  best  to  have  him  out  of  the 
way  until  the  matter  could  be  adjusted." 

"  Oh  ! "  the  woman  exclaimed.  And  then,  summoning 
her  courage  again,  she  asked  with  an  evident  effort: 
"  You  mean  that  he  could  not,  —  it  would  not  be  safe  ?  " 


THE   REAL   WOULD  279 

"He  would  probably  be  arrested,  if  he  appeared  in 
New  York,"  Jack  explained  firmly. 

"And  if  —  if  Mr.  Gushing  refuses;  if  the  thing  can't 
be  settled  —  " 

"He  could  never  come  back  here,"  Jack  completed, 
with  the  same  directness. 

General  Mather,  who  had  risen  and  walked  to  the 
bookcases,  turned  and  shot  a  cold  glance  at  his  daughter. 

"  I  told  you,  Isabelle !  He  is  a  thorough  rascal.  You 
can  speak  openly,  Mr.  Pemberton.  I  wish  my  daughter 
to  know  the  whole  thing  —  the  whole  thing." 

He  took  his  seat  again,  and  there  was  a  period  of 
silence  before  Miss  Mather  spoke.  She  looked  at  Jack, 
with  the  pain  of  her  broken  pride  written  plainly  on  her 
face.  "Yes,  I  want  to  know  just  what  it  was.  You 
need  not  consider  my  feelings,  Mr.  Pemberton." 

Her  manner  appealed  to  Jack.  He  liked  her  direct 
ness,  her  simplicity,  her  mastered  pride ;  and  he  resolved 
to  do  exactly  what  she  asked,  hurt  as  it  might. 

"  Briefly,"  he  said,  "  the  story  is  this.  When  Mr. 
Kimball  went  into  the  affairs  of  the  firm,  he  found  them 
badly  involved.  That  is  a  polite  word  for  very  tricky 
bookkeeping.  There  were  several  sets  of  books,  and  in 
the  end  we  suspect  that  Mr.  Greenacre  had  another  set  — 
which  would  be  more  enlightening  if  we  could  come  at 
it  —  which  he  kept  in  his  head.  It  took  the  accountants 
several  weeks  to  get  any  idea  of  the  conditions,  and  new 
liabilities  were  constantly  turning  up.  In  short,  the  firm 
had  engaged  in  every  kind  of  enterprise,  and  had  done 
things  not  countenanced  by  conservative,  or,  we  may 


280  THE   REAL   WORLD 

say,  honest,  business.  Greenacre  was  a  bad  lot,  in 
short." 

Miss  Mather  followed  every  word,  studying  Jack's  face 
as  if  to  read  there  more  than  he  said.  At  his  character 
ization  of  Greenacre,  the  General  smiled  faintly. 

"  At  the  very  end,"  Jack  continued,  "  when  we  thought 
we  had  straightened  the  tangle  out,  we  found  that  certain 
securities  belonging  to  a  customer  had  disappeared." 

Miss  Mather  nodded  impatiently. 

"  Later  those  securities  were  traced ;  they  had  been 
negotiated." 

"  He  had  taken  them  ?  "  Miss  Mather  said,  in  vague 
question. 

"  That  I  do  not  say,"  Jack  hastened  to  reply.  "  The 
circumstance  was  peculiar.  It  seems  that .  two  days 
before  the  assignment  an  old  customer  of  the  firm 
brought  in  some  bonds,  which  were  to  be  used  as  col 
lateral  for  a  loan  the  customer  desired  to  make.  Although 
the  firm  was  then  in  trouble,  and  we  have  reason  to 
believe  that  Mr.  Mason  knew  it  would  suspend,  he  re 
ceived  the  bonds." 

Miss  Mather  sighed,  and  Jack  hastened  to  add :  — 

"  There  was  nothing  exceptional  in  that  part  of  the 
story.  It  was  late  when  the  bonds  were  delivered,  per 
sonally,  into  Mr.  Mason's  hands ;  and  though  the  safe 
was  closed  at  the  time,  he  received  them,  and  gave  the 
firm's  receipt." 

Jack  paused  a  moment,  and  then  continued :  — 

"  The  bonds  were  never  deposited  in  the  safe ;  they 
disappeared.  Greenacre  claims  that  he  never  saw  them. 


THE  REAL  WORLD  281 

At  'all  events,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  Mason  is  the  re 
sponsible  person,  and  he  has  not  attempted  to  deny  his 
responsibility.  I  believe,  myself/'  he  added  hastily, 
"  that  Greenacre's  connection  with  this  part  of  the  affair 
will  never  be  known.  However,  as  it  stands,  those 
securities  must  be  replaced,  every  dollar,  or  —  " 

He  waited,  but  as  neither  the  General  nor  Miss  Mather 
spoke,  he  explained  :  — 

"  You  see,  they  were  not  assets  of  the  firm  ;  they  were 
private  funds  deposited  in  their  charge.  Just  as  if  I 
gave  your  father  my  purse  to  keep  while  I  —  " 

Miss  Mather  stopped  him  with  a  sudden  gesture.  She 
understood.  As  the  story  was  finished,  General  Mather 
observed  in  his  dry,  distant  manner :  — 

"  You  have  stated  the  facts  very  well,  Mr.  Pemberton. 
My  daughter  insisted  on  coming  here,  although  I  could 
have  told  her  the  sum  of  what  you  have  §aid.  I  think 
we  need  not  take  your  time  further,  Mr.  Pemberton." 

Jack  rose  quickly  to  leave,  but  Miss  Mather  detained 
him. 

"  You  say  that  Mr.  Gushing  refuses  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  will  do  nothing ;  he  leaves  it  to  his  wife ;  and  I 
suppose  that  Mrs.  Gushing  will  hardly  be  able  to  pay  the 
amount  without  her  husband's  help." 

"  It  is  a  very  large  sum  ?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  remember  exactly — about  forty-five  thou 
sand  dollars,  possibly  a  few  thousand  more — under  fifty." 

"  Elsie  never  could  pay  it,"  Miss  Mather  remarked. 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  her  father,  and  asked  him  to 
wait  for  her  in  the  next  room. 


282  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"  I  want  to  ask  Mr.  Pemberton  some  questions,"  she 
explained  briefly. 

"  Certainly,"  the  General  assented,  as  if  tired  of  the 
whole  affair. 

When  Jack  returned  from  showing  the  General  to 
his  own  office,  Miss  Mather  was  standing  with  her 
back  to  him.  When  she  turned,  she  made  no  attempt 
to  hide  her  tears.  Jack  pushed  forward  a  chair  and 
waited. 

"  You  think  he  really  stole  ?  "  she  asked  at  last.  "  I 
mean  that  he  knew  what  he  was  doing." 

"  Yes,  I  think  we  must  assume  that  a  man  of  his  years 
knew  that  he  was  doing  something  illegal  when  he  hy 
pothecated  the  securities.  I  suspect  that  Greenacre  con 
nived  at  it,  perhaps  encouraged  it ;  that  we  shall  never 
know.  Greenacre  is  a  clever  rascal.  But  no  matter  what 
Greenacre's  share  may  have  been,  the  fact  remains  that 
Mr.  Mason  first  received  the  bonds  and,  I  fear,  never 
deposited  them  in  the  safe.  He  must  have  known  enough 
business  to  realize  what  he  was  doing.  Why,  a  child 
would  have  known  that ! " 

"  You  do  not  give  him  the  advantage  of  a  single  doubt ! 
You  condemn  him  unheard.  I  want  to  hear  his  defence," 
she  protested,  with  spirit. 

"  Why  isn't  he  here,  then  ?  "  Jack  suggested  quietly. 
"  Why  hasn't  he  made  at  least  an  intelligible  statement  of 
his  acts,  instead  of  leaving  it  to  his  friends  to  compromise 
or  settle  as  best  they  can  ?  " 

The  last  shadow  of  hope  faded  from  Miss  Mather's 
face.  Jack  sat  waiting,  sincerely  miserable  for  her. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  283 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  You  are  right.  It  is  good 
to  know  all,  the  whole  wretched  story." 

After  another  pause  she  asked :  — 

"  And  he  must  go  to  prison  ?  " 

"Not  necessarily.  He  won't  come  back  until  it's 
patched  up,  I  suppose." 

"  You  haven't  any  sympathy  with  patching  it  up  ?  "  she 
demanded  quickly. 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  A  lot  of  harm  is  done  that  way,"  he  answered,  firmly 
convinced  about  this  point  from  recent  experience. 

"  But  why  shouldn't  he  have  another  chance  ?  "  the 
woman  protested. 

"  To  swindle  some  one  else  ?  No,  not  necessarily  that. 
But  why  shouldn't  the  others,  —  the  thousands  and  thou 
sands  who  can't  make  '  settlements '  and  '  compromises ' 
and  { arrangements ' ;  who  haven't  rich  and  influential 
relatives  and  friends  that  are  afraid  of  the  disgrace, — 
why  shouldn't  they  escape  their  sins,  too  ?  " 

The  heat  of  his  words  breathed  an  animus,  a  hatred  of 
privilege,  of  class. 

"You  would  let  Frank  go  to  prison  just  because  the 
next  sinner  had  to  go  ?  "  she  asked  reproachfully. 

"  It  isn't  my  place  to  judge  this  case,  Miss  Mather," 
Jack  responded,  after  a  time.  "  I  shall  do  what  I  can  to 
make  a  settlement.  I  have  already  begun  negotiations 
with  the  parties  interested  to  get  their  consent  to  accept 
less  than  the  full  amount,  —  say  thirty  thousand  dollars,  or 
even  twenty -five, — and  I  shall  write  Mrs.  Gushing  when  I 
have  heard  from  them.  If  you  ask  my  private  opinion, 


THE   REAL   WORLD 

I  must  say  frankly  that  I  don't  like  this  business,  —  this 
compromising." 

"  I  mustn't  take  more  of  your  time,"  she  said,  rising. 
"  You  have  been  really  kind." 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something ! "  the  young  lawyer  ex 
claimed.  The  woman's  suffering,  the  old  appeal  that 
always  touched  his  heart,  made  him  miserable.  He  re 
gretted  his  plain  words,  and  he  added  gently :  "  I  know 
what  it  is  to  you.  No  one  can  help  you." 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  little  smile  of  gratitude  for  his 
sympathy.  "  No  one  can  help  me.  It  is  worse  than  you 
know,  —  than  a  man  can  know." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented. 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  believe  that  I  —  I  —  love  him  as 
you  think,"  she  added  hastily,  with  a  burst  of  frankness, 
a  need  for  telling  the  exact  truth  of  her  heart.  "  After 
these  years,  after  knowing  all,  that  would  be  impossible, 
—  the  romance,  I  mean,  the  looking  up,  which  is  so  much 
to  a  woman.  But  I  want  to  save  him ! "  she  ended,  with  a 
sudden  cry,  "  to  save  him  from  himself.  Poor  Frank ! " 

Her  face  was  no  longer  cold,  indifferent,  as  he  had 
always  thought  it.  The  years  that  she  had  suffered  had 
broken  her  little  reserves,  her  little  pride,  and  she  was 
neither  conscious  nor  ashamed  in  revealing  her  intimate 
pain.  When  she  spoke  of  her  present  feeling  for  Frank, 
Jack's  heart  responded  with  sympathy  and  admiration. 
He  remembered  the  afternoon  at  Kiverside,  when  he  had 
come  upon  her  and  Mason  in  the  little  pavilion,  surpris 
ing  her  in  the  first  flush  of  her  love.  Between  that  face 
and  this  one  there  had  been  painful  years,  honestly  and 


THE   REAL    WORLD  285 

bravely  lived,  with  a  steadfast  purpose.  The  fineness  of 
race,  which  she  had  from  her  father,  united  with  a  fine 
ness  of  spirit,  which  was  her  own. 

"  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  save  him,"  Jack  responded 
warmly,  in  his  desire  to  comfort  her.  "Mrs.  Gushing 
can't  let  this  —  this  scandal  happen." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  Miss  Mather  answered  quickly. 
"  But  yes,  he  must  be  freed  from  the  disgrace,  too.  You 
see  a  woman,  Mr.  Pemberton,  can't  take  your  stern  view 
of  it,  especially  when  the  woman  has  loved." 

"Well,  I  shall  make  every  effort.  I  will  write  Mrs. 
Gushing  to-day,"  he  said  warmly. 

"  Do  you  see  Elsie  ?  "  Miss  Mather  asked. 

"  Occasionally,"  the  young  lawyer  answered  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  voice.  "  She  has  been  abroad  a  great  deal  these 
last  years." 

"  She  is  pleasure-loving,  like  him,"  Miss  Mather  mused. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  but  she  is  stronger  than  he  is." 

"  Or  hasn't  been  put  to  the  proof." 

"  That  we  cannot  say,"  he  responded  gently. 

There  was  nothing  further  to  be  said,  and  he  waited 
for  her  to  take  leave.  But  she  had  something  on  her 
mind  which  caused  her  to  linger,  trying  to  overcome  her 
shyness. 

"  You  haven't  been  at  the  Neck  for  a  long  while,"  she 
observed. 

"I  have  not  taken  a  vacation  since  I  came  to  New  York." 

"  Mrs.  Betts, — you  remember  her  ? — died  winter  before 
last." 

"My  aunt  wrote  me." 


286  THE    REAL   WORLD 

"He  married  again  last  year,  a  woman  from  Bock- 
land." 

She  was  thinking  probably  of  his  promise  to  the  sick 
woman.  He  had  not  forgotten  it,  but  he  refused  to  be 
drawn  out.  This  meeting  was  essentially  a  business 
matter,  and  he  never  made  concessions  to  the  social  sides 
of  his  profession.  As  they  shook  hands,  Miss  Mather 
asked  him  to  call  upon  her  while  she  was  in  New  York, 
and  he  promised  to  do  so. 

"  I  will  bring  you  news  very  soon." 

In  the  other  office  Mr.  Hodder  was  telling  General 
Mather  some  story.  But  the  General  rose  with  alacrity 
at  sight  of  his  daughter,  and  bowing  to  Jack,  shook 
hands  formally  with  the  older  lawyer  and  left.  As  Jack 
sat  down  at  his  desk,  he  noticed  that  the  morning  paper 
had  been  unfolded  and  laid  aside.  He  wondered  how 
carefully  General  Mather  had  read  the  page  that  was 
opened  before  him. 

"Curious  old  swell,"  Mr.  Hodder  remarked  to  the 
younger  lawyer,  looking  at  his  watch.  "You  handled 
that  very  well,  Pernberton.  I  thought  we  should  have  a 
scene.  I  gather  that  he  brought  his  daughter  here  to  let 
her  hear  the  worst,  and  he  is  not  sorry  to  have  the  rela 
tionship  broken.  I  don't  believe  the  Mathers  fancied  the 
least  bit  her  marrying  Mason." 

"N"o,  I  guess  not,"  Jack  assented. 

"An  American  mesalliance"  Mr.  Hodder  summed  up 
neatly.  "  Won't  you  lunch  with  me  at  the  Union  ?  " 

As  the  two  men  left  the  office,  Mr.  Hodder  remarked 
casually :  — 


THE   REAL   WORLD  287 

"  I  see  by  the  paper  that  some  one  of  your  name  has 
been  getting  into  trouble." 

"  My  brother,"  Jack  answered  steadily. 

The  older  lawyer  took  Jack's  arm  as  they  crossed  the 
hall  to  the  elevator. 

"  I'm  sorry,  my  boy,"  he  said  simply. 


CHAPTER  IV 

As  Jack  had  told  Miss  Mather,  lie  had  seen  Elsie  occa 
sionally.  The  first  months  of  his  life  in  New  York  he 
had  been  afraid  of  meeting  her,  and  yet  whenever  he  was 
where  she  might  possibly  be  found  he  had  looked  for  her 
with  a  furtive  desire  to  see  her,  to  hear  from  her.  But 
New  York,  especially  for  an  utterly  unknown  young  man 
who  spends  his  days  on  the  thirteenth  floor  of  a  Nassau 
Street  building  and  his  nights  in  an  Irving  Place  board 
ing-house,  is  a  continent  in  itself.  The  few  times  he  had 
met  Frank  Mason  or  Ned  Mather,  the  only  men  he  knew 
who  were  likely  to  see  Elsie,  he  had  heard  nothing  of 
her.  His  other  friends  were  young  men  like  himself,  very 
near  the  bottom  of  the  ladder,  —  some  reporting  for  the 
newspapers,  one  engaged  in  the  routine  of  magazine  edit 
ing,  others  nursing  their  infant  practice  in  the  newer  sec 
tions  of  the  great  city,  still  more  with  tiny  homes  far  out 
on  some  of  the  innumerable  suburban  radii.  They  met 
at  their  college  club,  or  at  luncheon  down  town,  or  at  the 
theatre.  None  of  them  had  opportunities  of  knowing 
Mrs.  Gushing. 

So,  what  little  he  knew  about  her  came  from  the  news 
papers,  to  whom  she  was  only  of  minor  importance,  her 
movements  to  be  recorded  in  a  dearth  of  more  promi 
nent  names.  The  house  on  Madison  Avenue  was  fre- 

288 


THE  REAL  WORLD  289 

quently  closed  for  long  periods.  Sometimes  the  name  of 
Mr.  Cushing's  steam  yacht  appeared  in  the  papers  as 
entering  or  leaving  a  foreign  port,  but  Mrs.  Gushing  was 
not  always  on  board.  They  had  a  place  in  the  country 
on  Long  Island,  as  well  as  the  Pemberton  Neck  house. 
And  Elsie  flitted  about  in  the  fitful  manner  of  the  imper 
manent  rich,  whose  numbers,  ever  increasing,  gradually 
form  a  little  world  for  themselves,  —  one  that  exists  side 
by  side  with  the  more  stable  world,  yet  rarely  touches  it. 
Once,  his  second  year  in  New  York,  he  had  met  Elsie  at 
the  KimbalPs.  It  was  a  large  dinner-party,  and  he  had 
merely  touched  hands  with  her.  A  few  weeks  afterward 
she  had  asked  him  to  dinner,  and  after  much  wavering  in 
his  mind  he  had  declined.  Then  he  had  met  her  coming 
out  of  a  picture  dealer's  on  Fifth  Avenue,  and  she  had 
made  him  stop  and  chat.  He  had  promised  to  call  and  had 
done  so,  much  later,  only  to  find  the  house  closed  for  the 
season.  Lately  she  had  come  to  the  office  to  see  Mr.  Kim- 
ball,  who  was  her  lawyer,  and  he  had  exchanged  a  word 
with  her  while  she  waited  for  the  lawyer.  But  they  were 
strangers,  —  acquaintances  who  had  once  been  friends,  — 
and  he  always  wished  that  they  might  not  meet,  neither 
he  nor  Elsie  being  expert  in  conducting  a  conversation  on 
indifferent  topics.  She  changed  very  slightly,  keeping 
marvellously  the  fresh  tints,  the  bloom  of  a  child,  which 
she  had  always  had.  Her  manner,  in  spite  of  occasional 
bursts  of  frankness,  was  much  more  composed.  Out 
wardly,  at  least,  she  had  found  that  self-mastery  which 
she  had  lacked  all  the  early  years  of  their  acquaintance. 
Probably,  he  thought,  she  had  made  her  compromise,  her 


290  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

arrangement  with  her  life,  and  had  sufficient  wit  and  pur 
pose  to  stick  to  it.  She  had  always  been  keen,  teachable ; 
and  she  had  doubtless  learned  how  far  she  could  go  and 
on  the  whole  keep  where  she  wanted  to  be,  —  a  kind  of 
worldly  wisdom  that  Jack  had  had  no  opportunity  to 
value  properly. 

Yet  all  these  three  years,  while  he  was  toiling  in  his 
lonely  fashion,  with  the  underlying  conviction  that  he 
touched  wood,  not  human  flesh;  that  he  played  a  dull 
game,  such  as  solitaire,  as  did  others,  but  did  not  live,  — 
the  woman  haunted  his  mind !  Not  the  present,  com 
petent  Mrs.  Gushing,  who  was  like  a  hundred  other 
figures  to  be  passed  on  the  Avenue  every  bright  after 
noon,  but  the  girl  he  had  known  in  her  first  joyous 
experiments ;  the  girl  of  ambitions,  who  had  given  him 
the  first  impulse  to  make  a  world  for  himself,  to  follow 
her.  He  had  told  her,  boyishly,  that  he  should  always 
love  her!  And  those  boyish  words,  now  that  he  no 
longer  wished  to  think  of  her,  seemed  a  prophecy  from 
which  he  could  not  escape. 

Instead  of  replying  to  his  letter  about  her  brother's 
affair,  Mrs.  Gushing  came  to  the  office,  as  Jack  had  half 
expected  she  would  do.  The  difficulties  in  which  she 
found  herself  solely  preoccupied  her.  She  talked  quite 
openly  and  without  sentiment.  Jack  soon  saw  that,  from 
a  totally  different  reason,  there  was  as  little  need  for 
euphemism  with  Mrs.  Gushing  as  with  Miss  Mather. 

"  It's  a  nasty  mess  all  around,"  Mrs.  Gushing  said  at 
once,  "  and  peculiarly  like  Frank,  —  just  feeble  and 


THE   REAL   WORLD  291 

cat's-pawish,  —  the  child  that's  always  getting  into  the 
puddle.  What  makes  it  worse  is,  that  the  bonds  be 
longed  to  just  those  people  of  all  others.  They  hate 
me,  and  they're  talking.  That  can't  be  helped.  Thank 
heavens,  it  takes  a  lot  of  talk  to  hurt  me ! " 

"They  will  be  content  with  twenty -five  thousand, 
and  I  think  I  can  stop  their  mouths,  somewhat,"  Jack 
answered,  adjusting  his  point  of  view  exactly  to  that  of 
his  client.  Mrs.  Gushing  was  familiar  with  these  irregu 
larities  in  the  world  in  which  she  moved.  Every  family 
had  its  black  sheep,  and  the  stone  of  gossip  was  scarcely 
a  safe  one  to  raise.  Instead  of  shrinking  from  the  com 
promise  suggested,  she  asked  shrewdly :  — 

"Is  that  the  best  that  can  be  done  ? " 

"  The  very  best,"  Jack  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  They 
have  a  strong  case,  you  know,  Mrs.  Gushing." 

"  What  could  they  do  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  at  the 
lawyer  keenly. 

"They  could,  and  undoubtedly  might,  discover  his 
hiding-place,  and  have  him  brought  back.  Then  they 
would  put  him  in  prison." 

"  It's  the  firm ! "  Mrs.  Gushing  cried.  "  Why  aren't 
Greenacre  and  young  Mather  in  it,  too?" 

"  I  tried  to  explain  in  my  first  letter  why  your  brother 
is  solely  involved,"  Jack  answered  coolly.  "General 
Mather  has  had  to  pay  heavily  for  his  son's  share  in 
the  failure,  but  he  has  escaped  without  disgrace." 

"  Frank  is  such  a  fool ! "  Mrs.  Gushing  reflected. 
"  He  had  everything  made  easy  for  him,  and  engaged 
to  Isabelle  Mather,  too,  —  nice  girl,  if  she  is  slow  and 


292  THE   REAL   WORLD 

old-maidish.  Men  are  such  fools  —  they  go  and  do 
something  that  makes  a  nasty  row ! " 

Jack  listened  with  a  certain  amusement  to  this  explo 
sion  of  irritation. 

"But  I  can't  get  all  that  money  —  I  can't  possibly," 
she  concluded,  as  if  some  extortion  were  being  practised 
upon  her.  "  Mr.  Gushing  won't  hear  Frank's  name  with 
out  foaming.  Besides,  he's  going  to  Japan.  You  know 
we  have  an  arrangement,  and  I  can't  get  one  cent  more. 
I've  overdrawn  already,  and  High  Head,  which  he  made 
over  to  me, -is  mortgaged  to  the  chimneys.  You  must 
write  them  that  it  can't  be  done — twenty-five  thousand 
is  too  much ! " 

"  To  return  fifty  per  cent  of  stolen  property  isn't 
usually  regarded  as  hard  terms,"  Jack  observed  dryly. 
"  You  will  let  the  affair  take  its  course,  then  ?  " 

"  Have  Frank  brought  back  here  !  Everything  in  the 
papers  —  and  the  trial !  Why,  I  might  just  as  well  move 
out  of  New  York  for  good ;  and  I  am  sick  of  Europe." 

Jack  made  no  suggestion. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Kimball  were  here ! "  Mrs.  Gushing  ex 
claimed  in  despair.  "  There  must  be  some  way  out  of 
it!" 

"  If  you  would  like  to  see  Mr.  Hodder,"  Jack  replied, 
rising  quickly.  "  You  must  know,  Mrs.  Gushing,  how 
disagreeable  my  connection  with  the  case  has  been  to  me. 
It  came  to  me  through  Mr.  Kimball's  illness,  and  I  saw 
no  way  to  avoid  it.  Believe  me,  I  have  done  the  very 
best  I  can  for  your  brother." 

"  Of  course !     Don't  take  it  so  personally,  Jack  —  Mr. 


THE  REAL  WORLD  293 

Pemberton.  Only  there  are  always  ways  out  of  these 
scrapes.  Mr.  Kimball  knows  the  world." 

"As  I  do  not,"  Jack  admitted  dryly.  "But  I  know 
the  law,  and  I  know  that  in  this  case  there  is  no  way  out, 
unless  you  are  willing  to  pay." 

"But  I  can't.  I  couldn't  sell  every  jewel  I  possess  for 
half  that  sum.  There  are  my  pictures  and  the  old 
tapestries,  —  but  one  can't  sell  such  things  at  an  hour's 
notice." 

"  The  bank  —  " 

Mrs.  Gushing  waved  her  hand  in  despair. 

"  And  what  shall  we  do  with  him  afterwards  ?  He 
can't  come  back  here  !  There  will  be  talk.  Besides,  he'll 
get  into  a  new  mess  in  six  months." 

"  There's  always  the  West,"  Jack  suggested.  "Besides, 
we  have  Porto  Rico,  Cuba,  and  the  Philippines.  I  should 
recommend  the  Philippines ;  it's  a  long  way  off,  and  the 
army  officers  are  the  only  ones  that  get  into  trouble  out 
there." 

"That  might  be  possible,"  Mrs.  Gushing  agreed, 
ignoring  the  irony  of  the  advice. 

"Well,  I  will  go  and  see  what  I  can  raise,"  she 
concluded,  with  a  sigh.  "Perhaps  Zufeldt  will  give 
me  something  on  my  pictures.  You  haven't  seen  my 
pictures  ? "  she  added,  glad  to  slip  to  another  subject. 
"I  have  the  best  Maufras  in  America,  and  some  very 
good  Monets  and  Fragonards.  Why  don't  you  ever  come 
to  see  me  ?  " 

Jack's  color  rose,  and  he  moved  awkwardly  in  his 
chair. 


294  THE   EEAL  WORLD 

"You  see,  I  have  really  good  things,  —  all  the  men 
who  know,  say  so,  —  and  my  collection  is  worth  a  good 
deal  more  than  I  paid  for  it.  You  must  come  and  see  it, 
and  the  house.  I've  had  it  almost  all  done  over.  It  was 
such  a  fright !  I  hadn't  any  taste  when  I  was  married. 
I  don't  see  how  we  lived  in  it.  When  will  you  come  ?  " 

"Whenever  you  say,"  Jack  answered,  before  he  knew 
what  he  was  saying. 

"  Come  Sunday,  to  luncheon,"  she  appointed,  after 
meditating ;  "  and  by  that  time  I  shall  know  what  I  can 
do.  You  can  put  them  off  until  Sunday,  can't  you? 
That's  only  four  days.  If  they  are  going  to  get  all  that 
money  —  " 

"I  will  manage  to  put  them  off,"  Jack  interrupted 
shortly. 

"  Very  well ;  Sunday,  at  two." 

She  gave  his  hand  a  warm  pressure,  and  smiled. 

"  It's  so  good  to  see  you  again,  Mr.  Pemberton,"  —  she 
drawled  the  name,  —  "  even  on  this  dreary  occasion." 


CHAPTER  V 

MRS.  GUSHING  had  certainly  developed  in  taste  since 
the  time  when  she  had  been  content  with  "  effects  "  ob 
tained  by  old  candlesticks  and  pieces  of  faded  brocade. 
Her  means,  perhaps,  had  permitted  then  no  further  dis 
play  of  aestheticism,  but  it  took  some  years,  after  the 
enlargement  of  her  means  by  marriage,  before  she  learned 
to  distinguish  between  the  numerous  Louis,  and  knew 
that  Bouguereau,  her  girlhood's  idol,  was  impossible,  and 
that  copies  of  old  masters  were  only  bought  by  certain 
classes  of  Americans.  Her  renaissance  in  art,  however, 
when  it  did  set  in,  came  very  fast.  A  young  American 
sculptor,  whom  she  had  known  in  his  productive  years 
before  his  work  had  a  market  value,  had  introduced  her 
to  some  real  artists.  They  liked  her  dinners ;  they  liked 
still  better  her  reckless  talk  and  vivid  wilfulness.  She 
reminded  them  of  the  happy  boulevards  of  their  youth, 
where  one  said  what  one  pleased,  provided  it  was  witty. 
So  they  taught  her  the  superficial  small  talk  of  art,  and 
amused  themselves  with  making  of  her  a  connoisseur. 
Her  house  was  an  agreeable  one,  and  when  she  had  money 
she  bought  generously  of  their  goods.  In  the  bottom  of 
their  hearts  the  serious  men,  —  those  who  painted,  or 
wrote,  or  thought,  —  despised  her  knowledge  of  art,  but 
liked  to  flirt  and  talk  French  with  their  amusing  hostess. 

295 


296  THE   EEAL   WORLD 

To  them  she  was  but  another  form  of  American  glibness 
and  pretension,  not  as  dull  or  as  vulgar  as  the  merely 
rich.  She  bought  what  they  told  her  to;  she  said 
picturesquely  what  they  said  soberly.  And  because  men 
who  had  won  some  renown  loafed  at  her  house  and  called 
her  by  her  first  name,  she  felt  that  she  had  made  a  niche 
for  herself  in  society,  and  was  distinguished  from  the 
hundreds  of  people  who  left  cards  at  her  door.  These 
people,  who  aspired  for  some  similar  kind  of  distinction 
from  the  other  hundreds,  also  felt  that  she  had  arrived. 
They  called  her  "eccentric,"  "artistic,"  "intellectual," 
or  "bohemian,"  according  to  their  respective  vocabu 
laries.  And  those  who  preferred  polo,  or  yachting,  or 
gambling,  as  did  her  husband,  thought  her  house  dull, 
and  the  company  one  met  there  rather  common. 

Jack  was  ignorant  of  Mrs.  Cushing's  renaissance  in 
taste,  and  when  he  found  himself  the  following  Sunday 
in  a  reception  room  scrupulously  Empire  in  style,  he  was 
not  keenly  aware  of  the  contrast  it  presented  to  the 
rooms  in  the  "  double-decker  "  above  the  Park.  He  had 
had  several  minds  about  keeping  this  engagement ;  and 
had  finally  agreed  with  himself  not  to  make  excuses 
from  fear  lest  he  should  seem  to  take  a  conventional 
invitation  altogether  too  seriously.  Besides,  he  supposed 
that  there  would  be  other  guests.  But  when  Elsie  ap 
peared  in  a  soft,  white  morning-gown,  as  fresh  and  as 
enjoyable  as  herself,  she  explained  negligently  that  they 
were  to  lunch  alone. 

"I  tried  to  get  Isabelle  and  Ned,"  she  added.  "But 
they  had  engagements  or  something.  You  seem  to  have 


THE  REAL  WORLD  297 

made  a  great  impression  on  Isabelle.  She  asked  me  a 
string  of  questions  about  you,  which,  of  course,  I  couldn't 
answer." 

As  Jack  did  not  rise  to  her  sally,  she  continued  idly :  — 

"  Why  didn't  Isabelle  look  at  you  instead  of  Frank ! 
You're  both  such  solemn  puritans,  you  would  have  fitted. 
She  ought  to  know  that  brother  is  a  weak  brother,  and 
always  will  be." 

"  Perhaps  she  does,"  Jack  observed  dryly. 

"  Well,  then,  if  she  wanted  him,  why  didn't  she  marry 
him  years  ago,  instead  of  moping  along  like  a  young 
widow ! " 

"  Possibly  the  General  objected  ?  " 

"No,"  Elsie  replied  impartially.  "Neither  the  Gen 
eral  nor  Roger  exactly  fancied  the  connection,  but  Isa 
belle  could  manage  them.  And  there  would  have  been 
money  enough  even  for  Prank's  idle  hands.  No!  She 
had  some  idea,  a  theory,  that  he  must  be  successful,  do 
something  first,  show  that  he  could  support  her  at  least. 
All  silly  sentiment !  She  might  have  seen  he  wasn't  that 
kind,  and  been  willing  to  pay  for  him,  if  she  wanted  him. 
But  she  is  sentimental,  like  you,  Jack." 

She  ended  with  this  provocative  fling,  turning  her  eyes 
full  upon  him. 

"Do  you  call  it  sentimental  to  wish  that  the  man 
you  are  going  to  marry  should  show  himself  worthy  of 
the  honor  ?  "  Jack  retorted  bluntly. 

"Tut,  tut,  friend,  —  who  is  worthy  of  the  honor  of 
Isabelle's  fair  hand  ? "  she  said,  mimicking  his  grave 
tone.  "  No,  it's  one  thing  or  the  other.  She  loves  him 


298  THE  REAL   WORLD 

and  wants  him,  or  doesn't  love  him.  That's  what  I  told 
her  two  years  ago  when  Frank  made  a  fizzle  of  it  in  Mr. 
Cushing's  business.  '  Look  here,  Isabelle,'  I  said.  '  He 
isn't  nearly  good  enough  for  you ;  even  he  can  see  it. 
He  is  selfish,  weak,  and  I'm  afraid,  deceitful.  If  he  had 
had  any  money,  nobody  would  find  all  that  out  —  his 
nice  manners  and  parlor  tricks  would  have  carried  him 
through  life.  But  Bushy  won't  do  anything  more  for 
him,  and  papa  can't.  It  sounds  brutal  for  me  to  say  it, 
but  I  wish  you  would  break  with  him,  Isabelle.'  " 

"  And  what  did  she  answer  ?  "  Jack  asked,  with  curi 
osity. 

"  Oh !  she  drew  herself  up  with  that  haughty  smile,  as 
if  she  were  teaching  the  vulgar  what  it  means  to  be  well 
born,  and  said,  '  Perhaps  I  care  more  for  him  because  he 
needs  some  one.'  " 

Elsie  laughed,  as  she  mimicked  Isabelle  Mather's  icy 
tones.  Then  she  resumed :  — 

"'Why  don't  you  marry  your  baby,  then,'  I  said. 
'  Not  until  he  cares  enough  for  me  to  make  a  little  place 
for  himself  in  the  world,'  she  answered.  'No  matter 
how  I  might  love  him ! '  So  there  you  have  her,  and  if 
you  can  understand  her,  you  are  cleverer  than  I  am ! " 

"  Do  you  think  she  cares  still  ?  "  Jack  asked,  remem 
bering  Isabelle  Mather's  proud  confession  in  his  office. 

Mrs.  Gushing  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  should  say  she  did !  But  we've  spent  a  lot  of  time 
gabbing  about  other  people.  Let's  have  luncheon.  We'll 
do  very  well  by  ourselves,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

She  smiled  and  patted  her  plump  hands,  quite  content 


THE  REAL   WORLD  '    299 

with  the  first  impression  she  had  made  upon  Jack,  and 
sailed  softly  across  the  hall.  Her  color  was  high,  and 
her  voice  buoyant.  Having  but  just  risen  and  had  her 
bath,  she  seemed  to  look  at  life  with  amiability  and  con 
tent.  She  glanced  about  her  rooms  with  satisfaction. 

"  I  must  show  you  everything  after  luncheon ;  but  the 
dining  room  is  the  best,  I  think." 

Jack  felt  that  it  was  cool  and  large  and  dignified.  He 
did  not  distinguish  the  lovely  renaissance  fireplace,  the 
tapestries  that  concealed  all  but  a  few  feet  of  the  walls, 
the  soft  gold  ceiling,  the  rug  that  was  one  in  a  year's  im 
portations.  Mrs.  Gushing,  who  was  watching  him  from 
the  door,  frowned ;  and  with  her  old  impulsiveness,  she 
took  his  arm  and  led  him  to  one  of  the  tapestries. 

"  That  came  from  the  Louville  collection.  Harry  Bat- 
terson  says  there  isn't  another  such  piece  to  be  had  in 
Europe,"  she  exclaimed  impatiently.  "  See  how  soft  the 
coloring  is,  and  it  is  in  very  good  condition." 

As  the  young  lawyer's  eyes  roved  about  the  room, 
seeking  to  find  some  other  point  where  he  could  show 
intelligently  the  expected  admiration,  she  called  his 
attention  to  the  fireplace. 

"  Ferguson,  the  architect,  got  it  for  me  from  a  palace  in 
Pisa.  The  figures  are  said  to  be  by  Arnolfo  di  Cambio." 

She  sank  into  a  large  Italian  renaissance  chair,  and 
motioned  to  him  to  take  a  similar  one  opposite  her. 

"  I  got  these  when  I  first  went  to  Italy  after  my  mar 
riage.  They  aren't  bad,  but  they  are  too  heavy  for  the 
room.  I'm  looking  for  some  smaller  ones.  The  table  is 
a  beauty,  isn't  it  ?  I  found  it  in  Home.  It's  the  exact 


300  THE    REAL   WORLD 

form  of  a  table  in  one  of  Veronese's  pictures.     The  legs 
are  particularly  good." 

She  rambled  on  while  the  servants  served  the  luncheon. 
Jack  listened,  amused  at  the  knowing  way  in  which  she 
displayed  her  information,  —  not  braggingly  to  impress 
him  with  her  luxury,  but  from  pride  in  a  new  acquisition. 
So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  room  might  have  been 
done  in  polished  cabinet  work  by  Davenport  or  in  imita 
tion  Flemish.  A  dining  room  was  still  a  dining  room  to 
him,  and  very  little  else.  But  he  was  keenly  conscious 
of  the  splendid  setting  the  dark  room,  the  tapestried 
walls,  the  massive  chair,  created  for  the  smiling  woman 
opposite  him.  She  seemed  more  opulent,  more  sensuous 
and  commanding,  than  of  old.  Instinctively  she  had 
amassed  the  furniture  that  became  her  bloom. 

"  I  believe  a  home  should  express  your  own  individu 
ality,"  she  said,  with  complacent  enjoyment  of  the  plati 
tude,  as  they  went  upstairs  to  the  library  for  their  coffee. 
"Everything  here  is  like  me,  is  mine,"  she  pronounced 
with  emphasis.  "  I  have  spent  days,  months,  in  selecting 
every  article  of  furniture,  —  every  chair  and  picture  and 
rug,  down  to  the  paper-cutters  on  the  table." 

"You  have  succeeded,"  Jack  responded,  a  little  wearily. 

"  This  is  my  last  treasure.     Stand  there." 

She  touched  the  electric  light,  and  pointed  to  a  Renoir, 
—  the  picture  of  a  girl  lying  in  a  sun-beaten  field,  her 
naked  flesh  strangely  spotted  with  light. 

"  Hasn't  that  force  ?  Doesn't  it  glow  ?  He  is  a  ma 
gician,  that  man." 

Jack,  who  had  not  risen  to  the  higher  notes  of  the  im- 


THE  EEAL  WORLD  301 

pressionists,  looked  at  it  suspiciously.  His  untrained 
eyes  refused  to  enjoy  the  plague-spotted  flesh,  the  me 
tallic  lustre  of  the  fields. 

"You  don't  like  it!"  Mrs.  Gushing  exclaimed  disap 
pointedly.  "  Look  at  my  Maufras,  then." 

Thus  they  made  the  tour  of  the  long  room,  and  Jack 
responded  as  freely  as  he  could  to  the  constant  demand 
for  appreciation.  Something  made  him  feel  that  she 
herself  did  not  thoroughly  enjoy  her  own  treasures; 
her  mood  was  too  restless. 

"  Come !  "  she  said  at  last.  "  The  coffee  will  get  cold, 
and  you  don't  care  for  pictures.  I  am  boring  you." 

"  No,  not  that,"  Jack  protested.  "  You  make  me  feel 
fearfully  ignorant.  You  have  gone  so  far  beyond  me." 

"  One  can  pick  it  all  up  easily  enough,  if  one  cares," 
she  replied  graciously,  lighting  her  cigarette  and  handing 
the  tray  to  Jack.  "Perhaps  you  don't  care  —  are  too 
serious." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  as  quick  as  you  are,  Mrs.  Gush 
ing." 

"  Why  Mrs.  Gushing,  Mr.  Pemberton  ?  "  she  asked,  re 
moving  her  cigarette  and  looking  steadfastly  at  Jack, 
who  turned  his  head  away  to  avoid  an  answer.  "  Don't 
you  like  me  any  more  than  you  do  my  house,  Jack  ?  " 
she  persisted. 

"  Oh  ! "  he  answered,  with  a  laugh,  "  I  always  think  of 
you  now  as  my  client,  Mrs.  Gushing." 

"  Now  1 "  she  questioned,  in  a  lower  tone.  "  I  never 
forget." 

"Nor  I,"  he  responded  calmly,  looking  at  her  once 


302  THE  REAL   WORLD 

more.  After  the  silence  had  grown  embarrassing,  he 
added :  "  But  I  think  we  had  best  regard  that  as  closed, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  As  you  wish,"  she  agreed  briskly.  But  her  look  puz 
zled  him.  With  Elsie  it  was  never  as  any  one  else 
thought  best ;  it  was  as  she  thought  best. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  reverted  to  the  house. 
"I  am  pleased  with  my  things.  I  think  I  have  made 
something  of  my  home.  It  isn't  just  a  big  barn  where 
some  one  has  dumped  a  lot  of  furniture  and  money. 
And  I  have  interesting  people  here,  too ;  as  interesting 
as  you  find  in  America.  They  say  it's  a  place  where 
men  talk  and  women  listen.  Don't  you  think  that's 
worth  while  ?  " 

"  It  might  depend  on  the  women." 
"  You've  made  up  your  mind  not  to  be  pleased." 
"  I  am  glad,  indeed,  you  have  found  what  you  wanted." 
"Oh!    I  don't  say  that.     Only  bores  find  what  they 
want.     But  I've  found  what  a  good  many  other  people 
want ! " 

Jack  laughed,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
"Oh,  Frank!     I  had  nearly  forgotten  brother  in  the 
excitement  of  seeing  you.     I  have  the  money." 

Her  cool,  matter-of-fact  manner  jarred  on  the  young 
lawyer.  "  Will  you  send  it  to  the  office  to-morrow  ?  "  he 
asked,  rising. 

"  Why,  you  might  as  well  take  it  now,  hadn't  you  ?  " 
She  pushed  her  cigarette  into  the  ash-tray  and  fluttered 
across  the  room  to  an  old  desk,  which  was  laden  with  un 
opened  notes.     After  a  time  she  found  a  long  envelope 


THE   REAL   WORLD  303 

and  gave  it  to  Jack.  "  There's  the  money,  in  bills,"  she 
said.  "  We'll  consider  what  to  do  with  him  next." 

"I  will  count  it,  and  give  you  a  receipt,"  the  lawyer 
replied,  sitting  down  at  the  smoking-table  again.  Mrs. 
Gushing  lit  another  cigarette  and  opened  some  letters, 
while  Jack  drew  out  the  bills  and  counted  them.  They 
were  five  hundreds  and  thousands.  After  a  time  he 
glanced  up  nervously,  exclaiming :  — 

"  There's  a  mistake !  The  amount  was  twenty-five 
thousand,  and  there  is  a  good  deal  more  here." 

"  Oh ! "  Mrs.  Gushing  blushed,  and  then  answered 
quickly  :  "  I  thought  it  best  that  the  sum  be  paid  in  whole 
—  not  to  compromise  with  those  people.  They  would 
always  talk,  you  know." 

Jack  looked  at  her  hard.  He  knew  that  she  was 
lying.  Finally  he  began  to  count  the  bills  again. 

"I  am  very  glad,"  he  observed,  still  looking  at  her. 
She  burst  into  laughter,  and  laughed  for  several  minutes 
nervously. 

"  What's  the  use  of  fibbing !  It  isn't  my  idea  at  all. 
It's  Isabelle's,  and  the  money  is  hers,  too.  7  couldn't 
get  it  in  four  days !  Of  course,  I  borrowed  it ;  and  I 
promised  Isabelle  I  wouldn't  let  any  one  know,  not  even 
you.  So  you  mustn't  tell,  will  you  ?  She  was  very  keen 
that  you  shouldn't  know.  But  I  could  see  at  once  that 
you  suspected  me." 

"  I  shan't  be  likely  to  tell,"  Jack  answered  gravely. 
"  It  is  the  full  amount,  plus  the  interest,  to  the  last  cent. 
Here  is  a  receipt,  which  you  will  return  to  me  when  you 
have  received  the  other  receipt." 


304 


THE   REAL   WORLD 


She  laid  the  piece  of  paper  on  the  cigarette  tray,  and 
clasping  her  hands  behind  her  head,  looked  coolly  at  the 
man. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  to  Isabelle,  Jack  ?  You  would 
fit  very  well.  You  have  the  same  prejudices  ! " 

"  Against  prevarication  ?  "  Jack  asked,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

Mrs.  Gushing  laughed  good-naturedly,  as  she  gave  him 
her  hand. 


CHAPTER  VI 

NEVERTHELESS  he  went  again  and  again  to  the  house 
with  the  excuse  of  business  or  without  it.  For  Elsie  had 
not  exaggerated  when  she  boasted  that  men  liked  her 
house,  and  that  one  heard  good  talk  there.  To  a  young 
man  engaged  in  the  solitary  struggle  of  New  York  with 
few  houses  where  he  could  go  for  something  more  than 
a  meal,  it  was  a  revelation  of  social  delights.  There  at 
supper  after  the  theatre  he  met  men  of  all  the  profes 
sions,  and  they  talked,  as  Elsie  had  said,  and  the  women 
listened.  The  frequenters  of  the  house  accepted  him  cord 
ially  as  a  new  recruit,  and  very  soon  his  shy,  taciturn 
self-consciousness  wore  away.  He  discovered  in  himself 
an  unknown  treasure  of  humor  and  good-fellowship, 
which  relieved  the  homely  intellectual  honesty  of  his 
mind.  The  other  men  recognized  his  intelligence,  and 
cared  little  for  his  ignorance  of  aesthetic  small  talk. 

At  first  he  had  taken  himself  to  task  for  thus  slipping 
into  new  relations  with  Elsie  and  her  world,  but  it  came 
about  so  gradually  and  naturally,  with  so  many  innocent 
pretexts,  that  he  soon  forgot  his  scruples,  or  laughed  at 
them  as  affectations.  And  Elsie  made  no  attempt  to 
recall  the  past.  She  accepted  his  terms  laid  down  that 
first  Sunday  afternoon,  and  treated  him  altogether  as  a 
new  acquaintance,  whom  she  admitted  to  her  circle  on 
x  305 


306  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

terms  of  perfect  equality.  She  flattered  him  by  empha 
sizing  this  new  relationship  of  equality.  He  was  asked 
to  the  most  interesting  dinners  and  suppers  that  she 
gave,  and  she  honored  him  by  according  him  no  special 
intimacy,  no  advantage  over  the  others  due  to  old  friend 
ship.  Before,  she  had  petted  him  and  domineered,  like 
a  privileged  sister.  Now  she  gave  him  what  she  gave 
the  world,  and  it  pleased  his  pride.  From  her  house  he 
went  to  others,  where  he  was  also  welcomed  for  his  own 
sake.  Thus  Elsie  again  in  his  new,  man's  life  indirectly 
steered  him  and  shaped  the  world  for  him.  Her  first 
crude  lessons  at  Pemberton  Neck  had  given  him  the 
desire  to  reach  beyond  the  hotel ;  now,  more  skilful  and 
subtle  in  her  methods,  she  taught  him  to  enjoy,  to  under 
stand  art  and  people  and  life. 

For  a  time,  moreover,  he  went  to  her  house  to  see  Isa- 
belle  Mather,  who  was  visiting  Mrs.  Gushing,  and  asked 
him  to  call.  Employing  many  tactful  feminine  devices, 
Elsie  threw  them  together  until  the  two  stubborn  natures 
softened  toward  one  another,  understood  and  respected 
each  other,  sharing  silent  sympathies  unknown  to  Elsie's 
positive  soul.  It  was  during  this  visit  that  Miss  Mather 
had  her  last  meeting  with  her  old  lover,  and  made  it 
clear  to  him  that  he  had  lost  all  but  the  woman's  pitying 
contempt.  Jack  Pemberton,  who  had  Mason  in  charge 
during  his  short  stay  in  New  York,  saw  that  the  man 
realized  this  as  his  greatest  misfortune.  What  he  had 
always  taken  lightly,  as  a  thing  of  course,  —  Isabelle's 
love  for  him,  —  had  melted  away  during  the  years  of  his 
incapacity.  And  the  best  thing  that  Jack  had  to  report 


THE    REAL   WORLD  307 

of  him  to  his  sister,  when  he  returned  from  seeing  Mason 
off  at  the  steamer,  was  this  subdued,  unrebellious  regret, 
this  sense  of  irreparable  loss.  "The  only  thing  left  for 
me  to  do  is  to  keep  out  of  their  way  for  good,"  he  had 
said,  and  Jack  had  nodded  assent. 

When  Miss  Mather  ended  her  visit  a  few  days  later, 
she  asked  Jack  to  visit  her  father  and  her  at  Pemberton 
Neck. 

"  I  shall  never  go  back  there,"  he  replied  quickly. 

"  Well,  then,  next  fall  at  Riverside,"  she  persisted. 

"  Perhaps  some  time,"  he  accepted  vaguely. 

A  few  days  after  Miss  Mather  had  left,  he  dropped  in 
at  the  Madison  Avenue  house  on  his  way  home  from  his 
office,  and  found  Elsie  alone.  She  had  just  come  in  from 
a  concert,  one  of  a  series  given  by  subscription  to  revive 
old  music  —  very  dull,  as  most  of  the  patrons  confessed, 
but  instructive  and  intellectually  praiseworthy.  Some 
of  the  ennui  of  the  afternoon  survived  in  her  listless 
attitude.  She  leaned  forward  over  the  blaze  of  the  fire, 
whipping  her  skirt  restlessly  with  her  long  gloves. 
Now  and  then  she  looked  at  the  man  with  a  slow,  inquir 
ing  gaze  that  puzzled  him.  Elsie's  silent  moods  were 
discomforting. 

"I  heard  from  Mr.  Gushing  to-day,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  He  will  be  home  in  a  week.  Then  I  suppose  we  shall 
go  to  the  country,  or  abroad.  He  wants  to  go  to  the 
country,  and  I  to  St.  Moritz,  for  the  summer.  Bushy  is 
more  tolerable  abroad,"  she  burst  out  in  her  old  manner. 

"  So  you  leave  town  soon,"  Jack  observed. 


308  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"Very  soon,"  she  answered,  looking  at  him  as  she 
had  before.  "  And  I  don't  want  to  leave  this  spring  — 
I  never  wanted  to  leave  so  little ! " 

He  made  the  commonplace  rejoinder  demanded,  and 
she  studied  the  fire  again.  Soon  she  exclaimed :  — 

"Jack !  Jack,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked,  on  his  guard,  disturbed  by 
her  troubled  mood. 

"  Oh !  you  needn't  be  afraid,  Mr.  Lawyer.  It's  noth 
ing  criminal.  I  want  you  to  go  home  and  dress  and 
come  back  for  dinner.  I  am  alone  to-night,  and  I  have 
the  creeps  when  I  dine  alone." 

He  offered  some  excuses,  but  she  moved  her  hand 
impatiently. 

"  Will  you  or  will  you  not  ?  " 

"I  will,"  he  answered  slowly,  ashamed  of  his  own 
nervousness.  "In  fact,  I  shall  be  most  glad  to." 

When  he  returned,  an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Gushing  had 
not  come  down,  and  he  was  shown  to  the  library.  He 
had  learned  to  like  this  room,  to  feel  its  warmth  and 
twilight  repose.  He  understood  a  little  better  the 
real  value  of  the  things  it  contained,  although  he  still 
held  out  against  the  mottled  Renoir.  The  man  deftly 
arranged  a  little  table  before  the  fire,  and  placed  the 
cigarettes  and  the  evening  papers  by  his  side.  Then 
he  brought  some  absinthe  and  a  cocktail,  and,  arrang 
ing  the  electric  lights  so  that  the  larger  part  of  the 
great  room  was  in  dusk,  he  went  out  softly.  Every 
thing  in  Elsie's  establishment  moved  with  the  utmost 
precision  and  ease,  creating  an  atmosphere  absolutely 


THE  REAL  WORLD  309 

free  from  friction.  Evidently  she  had  understood  from 
the  first  that  what  the  world  needs  is  to  be  soothed,  and 
if  one  wishes  to  attract  desirable  people,  one  must  give 
them  a  subconscious,  physical  content.  Then,  as  Jack 
knew,  she  had  a  wonderfully  good  head  for  detail,  for 
executive  management.  She  did  not  fritter  away  her 
strength  in  petty  worries. 

Jack  leaned  back  and  closed  his  eyes,  feeling,  as  for 
the  first  time,  the  comfort  and  charm  and  exceeding 
quiet  of  the  place,  which  penetrated  his  limbs  and 
lapped  him  away  to  dreams.  He  had  not  cared  for 
atmosphere  in  the  old  days  of  his  youth ;  this  sense  of 
physical  peace  was  new  and  strange.  It  was  the  new 
Elsie  !  In  a  flash  he  saw  her  marvellous  unfolding  from 
the  society  of  Zenobia,  Ohio,  the  boarding-school,  the 
European  vagabondage,  the  New  York  apartment  house, 
the  summer  seaside  cottage,  to  this.  And  she  had  un 
folded  from  the  loud,  slangy,  "breezy"  American  girl, 
quick-witted  and  uneducated,  to  the  woman  who  knew 
rather  more  than  the  names  of  things,  who  was  sure  of 
herself  and  her  world,  who  had  picked  what  she  wanted 
from  the  vulgar  profusion  of  riches,  and  fitted  to  herself 
an  environment  like  a  glove  !  Yes,  it  was  admirable,  but 
he  did  not  admire.  In  the  rapid  bloom  of  the  hybrid 
there  had  emerged  something  hard,  metallic,  common, 
which  he  did  not  analyze,  but  which  he  felt,  like  the 
touch  of  iron.  She  had  gone  far,  but  she  had  reached 
the  crest  of  her  wave.  When  she  was  silent  and  thought, 
was  she  conscious  that  she  lacked  something  —  was  she 
dissatisfied  with  the  result  of  her  creation  ? 


310  THE   REAL   WORLD 

She  was  a  long  time  dressing,  he  thought,  when  a 
clock  struck  seven  and  a  half.  But  she  cared  more  now 
for  dress,  and  all  the  physical  details  of  life,  than  she 
had  as  a  girl.  She  never  neglected  her  hours  for  exer 
cise  — the  swimming-pool,  the  ride  in  the  Park,  or,  if 
the  weather  was  bad,  fencing.  The  masseuse,  the  mani 
cure,  the  teacher  of  physical  culture,  —  each  had  his 
allotted  moments  of  the  full  day.  The  care  of  her 
beautiful  body  was  first  in  the  category  of  her  duties. 
Mrs.  Gushing  was  not  one  to  come  out  of  the  season 
haggard  and  worn;  the  morning  after  the  hardest 
evening  of  the  week  she  was  fresh  and  redundantly 
vital.  All  was  perfectly  arranged  and  thought  out! 

He  lit  another  cigarette,  sipped  the  last  drops  of  the 
cocktail,  and  stole  about  the  room,  opening  books,  exam 
ining  the  bibelots,  whose  jargon  he  had  heard  so  often  of 
late.  She  was  nothing  to  him,  he  kept  saying,  with  a 
feeble  delight  in  the  phrase.  She  was  but  a  good  dinner 
and  a  vivacious  hour  of  talk.  He  knew  her,  alas !  He 
knew  her  to  the  remotest  corner  of  the  soul  he  had  once 
loved,  like  a  dog,  as  grown  men  do  not  love,  with  worship 
and  reverence  and  faith,  with  a  subduing  sense  of  the 
mystery  in  woman.  Perhaps  she  had  taught  him  most 
kindly  the  lesson  of  life  that  savage  summer  morning 
beside  the  pool  of  cold  sea  water.  .  .  . 

The  silence  made  the  man  nervous.  What  was  in  the 
woman's  mind  this  afternoon?  Why  had  she  need 
of  him  ?  He  could  not  talk,  nor  flatter  her  pride  and 
conceit,  nor  add  fame  to  her  house,  nor  tickle  her 
vanity,  nor  even  make  love  to  her !  He  might  be  useful 


THE   KEAL   WORLD  311 

to  her,  but  he  was  scarcely  decorative.  The  unornamental 
and  necessary  furniture  of  life  she  was  wont  to  shove  out 
of  sight.  And  while  he  waited  in  the  dim,  silent  room, 
penetrated  with  the  silences  of  the  other  rooms,  the  aloof 
ness  of  the  great  house,  strange  fancies  flitted  through 
his  sensible  mind;  wild  thoughts  of  mad  acts,  sinful, 
inhuman  visions  of  deeds  done  beyond  the  confines  of 
this  moral  world  of  ours  —  souls  without  regret,  with 
out  bonds,  not  tethered  with  the  halting  lassitude  of 
our  dull,  weary  lives,  —  such  moments  as  spring  un 
foreseen  upon  the  temperate  and  restrained,  disclosing 
caverns  under  their  well-ordered  acts  where  strange 
passions  seethe.  .  .  . 

"  You  are  here  ! " 

At  the  rustle  of  her  dress  he  had  started,  as  if  detected 
in  some  furtive  act,  and  he  tried  to  gain  his  usual  com 
posure  by  the  matter-of-fact  phrases  which  he  uttered. 

"  An  hour  or  more,  I  should  say.  When  do  you  usually 
dine  ?  » 

"  It  doesn't  make  any  matter  to-night,  does  it  ?  I  told 
Thompson  eight.  Shall  we  go  now  ?  " 

Her  eyes  were  unnaturally  bright.  He  would  have 
said,  if  he  had  not  known  her  to  be  abstemious,  that  she 
had  been  drinking,  or  had  taken  some  poison  to  dilate  the 
pupils.  But  she  smiled  tranquilly,  interpreting  his  ner 
vousness  as  a  tribute  to  her  appearance.  For  her  little 
dinner  intime  she  had  taken  the  trouble  to  put  on  full 
evening  dress.  Now  that  her  figure  had  gained  a  number 
of  pounds,  she  needed  splendor  more  than  simplicity. 

They  dined,  rather  dully  and  gloomily.    All  the  gayety 


312  THE   REAL   WORLD 

and  sprightliness  of  her  usual  mood  were  snuffed  out,  and 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  intense  brilliancy  of  her  eyes, 
he  would  have  thought  her  bored.  She  scarcely  spoke 
after  he  had  started  to  talk  about  Stevenson  and  his  work 
on  the  little  Iowa  railroad.  Under  the  scrutiny  of  her 
eye,  he  rambled  on  in  great  detail  about  the  railroad,  its 
misfortunes,  and  Stevenson's  plucky  fight  to  save  his 
father's  fortune  in  these  hard  times.  He  explained  the 
situation  of  the  road,  the  legal  questions,  the  bonds,  the 
debenture  stock,  the  common  stock  —  talking  in  a  haze, 
with  the  eagerness  of  a  man  who  talks  to  prove  that  he  is 
not  drunk.  Mrs.  Gushing  ate  little,  and  merely  touched  her 
champagne  with  her  lips.  But  he  drank  more  than  usual, 
gaining  a  certain  command  of  his  nervousness  from  the 
wine.  Finally,  as  Elsie  had  ceased  to  eat  altogether  and 
sat  resting  her  elbows  upon  the  table,  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
him,  he  broke  off  his  tale. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  am  so  stupid  to-night,  and  bore 
you  with  all  this  shop." 

"I  like  it,"  she  responded  slowly.  "I  like  to  hear  you 
talk  about  affairs  —  business.  You  make  it  clear  and  im 
portant.  You  are  a  man  now,  and  you  talk  well  —  very 
well,  Jack." 

As  he  did  not  continue,  she  made  an  effort  to  start  him 
once  more. 

"  So  your  friend  has  been  in  New  York  to  see  about 
raising  money.  What  has  he  done  ?  " 

This  he  had  told  long  before,  and  he  saw  that  her  mind 
had  been  wandering  all  the  time  while  her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  him.  When,  he  failed  to  reply,  she  pushed 


THE  REAL  WORLD  313 

back  her  chair,  and  silently  they  returned  to  the  library 
where  their  coffee  was  waiting. 

"  No,  you  are  not  very  brilliant  to-night,"  she  observed 
accusingly.  "  We  will  go  to  the  opera  instead  of  staring 
each  other  out  of  countenance  all  the  evening." 

The  carriage  was  waiting  at  the  door.  He  realized 
that  she  had  intended  all  the  time  to  go.  While  they 
were  driving  the  few  blocks,  he  heard  her  rapid  breath 
ing,  as  if  she  were  greatly  excited,  but  whenever  she 
spoke,  her  voice  was  slow  and  dull.  The  second  act  of 
the  opera  had  begun  when  they  entered  the  box.  Elsie 
dropped  into  a  chair  near  the  door,  and  motioned  to  him 
to  take  the  one  beside  her.  From  where  they  sat  noth 
ing  was  visible  but  the  florid  ceiling  and  the  vast  arch  of 
the  upper  stage,  and  for  once  the  house  was  hushed,  the 
chatter  from  the  boxes  extinguished,  as  Ternina's  voice 
rose  in  the  long  triumphant  desire  of  Isolde  — 

"...  wie  sie  es  wendet 

wie  sie  es  endet, 

was  sie  mir  kiiret, 

wohin  mich  fiihret 
ihr  ward  ich  zu  eigen  : 
nun  lass'  mich  gehorsam  zeigen ! " 

The  woman  beside  him  closed  her  eyes,  and  seemed  to 
sink  into  the  waves  of  sound.  The  soft,  passionate,  in 
sistent  duet  began  with  its  recurrent  melody,  its  leap 
ing,  quivering,  maddening  ecstasy  —  the  music  of  the 
body,  the  poignant  cry  of  the  nerves.  At  first  the  music 
stilled  his  nervous  tremor,  calmed  him  like  an  opiate, 
but  as  the  themes  returned,  ever  higher,  ever  more  yearn- 


314  THE   REAL   WORLD 

ing  for  satisfaction  of  desire,  for  peace  to  the  body,  the 
pulses  in  his  hands  beat  faster,  and  the  strange  madness 
of  music,  the  intoxication  wilder  than  the  intoxication  of 
drug  or  wine,  overcame  his  senses.  The  fever  flooded 
ever  fiercer,  submerging  the  little  landmarks  of  resolu 
tion,  glorifying  the  common  thoughts  of  common  things 
—  pleading,  demanding,  promising,  revealing.  .  .  . 

She  was  breathing  faster  in  obedience  to  the  same  in 
fluence,  abandoning  herself  with  less  resistance  to  the 
seductive  draught,  assuaging  the  savage  instincts  of  her 
tortuous  nature  in  the  moralless,  enervating  bliss  of  the 
music.  With  the  last  note,  at  the  sound  of  the  wooden 
rap-rap,  tap-tap  of  the  applause,  she  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  the  man,  one  long  sigh  fluttering  from  her  lips. 

"  Jack,  Jack  !  "  she  murmured  drowsily,  as  if  scarcely 
awakened  from  a  wonderful  sleep. 

His  hand  met  hers,  and  they  waited,  not  knowing 
themselves,  their  hearts  beating  loudly,  calling  across 
the  little  space  between  their  bodies.  And  in  those  mo 
ments,  while  the  audience  moved  and  made  little  human, 
discordant  noises,  proving  to  themselves  that  they  were 
just  the  same  little  people  with  proper  ideas  and  moral 
codes,  these  two  trembled  and  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes,  afraid  and  tempted,  each  searching  the  mystery  of 
the  other ! 

"Come,  let's  go,"  she  whispered,  gathering  up  her 
opera  cloak.  Jack  followed  her,  his  body  still  stiff  and 
unfamiliar.  She  led  the  way  to  some  little-used  exit, 
and  they  found  themselves  in  the  damp  night,  through 
which  filtered  the  flakes  of  a  spring  snowstorm.  She 


THE   REAL   WORLD  315 

took  his  arm,  and  they  walked  up  the  sloppy  pavement, 
heedless  of  the  loungers,  of  the  swirling  wisps  of  clotted 
snow. 

"  And  now  ? "  Jack  asked,  trying  to  throw  off  the 
weight  that  clogged  his  mind. 

"  We  will  go  home  —  not  back  there.  Come,  here's  a 
carriage,"  and  with  sudden  energy  she  sprang  into  a 
waiting  cab.  He  gave  the  address  and  pulled  the  door 
to,  then  turned  to  look  at  her,  —  gravely,  doubtingly,  his 
heart  still  beating  fiercely. 

"  You  meant  it ! "  he  said  accusingly. 

"  Yes,  I  meant  it ! "  she  exclaimed,  her  face  close  to 
his,  her  eyes  answering  his  defiantly.  "  And  I  am  glad, 
I  am  glad." 


CHAPTER   VII 

A  BED  of  red  fire  gleamed  through  the  gray  ashes  on 
the  hearth.  The  room  was  permeated  with  the  pleasant 
warmth  and  pungent  odors  of  the  burned  wood.  A  read 
ing  lamp,  and  the  rosy  glow  from  the  hearth,  barely 
revealed  one  corner,  and  touched  the  white  surface  of  a 
marble  torso. 

Elsie  slipped  the  long  cloak  from  her  shoulders  and 
tossed  it  upon  a  chair,  turning  with  the  same  swift  motion 
to  Jack,  who  stood  quite  still  before  the  fire. 

"  Yes ! "  she  exclaimed,  a  slight  smile  on  her  lips,  her 
hands  outstretched  to  him.  "  I  am  glad,  glad ! " 

The  man,  drawn  by  the  gesture,  the  triumphant  words, 
the  shining  face,  slowly  responded  to  her  appeal,  coining 
nearer  and  nearer  until  he  felt  the  repressed  breathing, 
the  subtle  dilation  of  the  warm,  vital  creature  almost 
within  his  arms.  For  a  moment  they  stood  thus  without 
words,  the  woman's  lips  still  smiling  in  joyous  welcome, 
her  arms  reached  to  him.  In  the  chaotic  swirl  of  thought 
and  feeling,  the  man  paused,  knowing  the  trick  and  hating 
it,  understanding  in  one  swift  revelation  all  the  power 
and  recklessness  of  the  woman,  —  his  heart  strangely  dead 
within  him,  but  his  blood  singing  savagely  in  every  vein 
of  his  body.  The  poignant,  appealing  strains  of  the 
music  he  had  just  heard  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the 

316 


THE    REAL,   WORLD  317 

phrase  of  fate,  and  she,  too,  was  hearing  those  strains 
and  yielding  to  their  sensuous  impulsion.  For  a  moment, 
thus,  they  swayed  before  the  wind  of  passion. 

"  For  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you,"  she  said,  iterating 
the  word  with  savage  emphasis.  "And  you  have  loved 
me  always ! " 

He  cried  vainly,  blindly,  "  No !  no ! "  —  a  cry  that 
closed  in  pain  and  inarticulate  moan,  —  and  then  he 
seized  her  and  kissed  her  lips,  as  they  smiled  triumphantly 
at  him.  They  were  soft  and  cool,  fresh  as  the  surface  of 
rain-washed  fruit.  As  he  touched  them,  the  sensuous 
glow  of  her  body  enveloped  him, — the  spell  of  the  woman 
as  woman,  with  all  her  hidden  instincts,  her  beguiling, 
unseen  mastery  of  flesh.  The  repressed  rage,  the  carnal 
temptations  of  his  race,  swept  over  the  man,  surging  in 
him  like  the  maddening  music,  —  the  one  great  desire 
that  would  be  appeased,  even  to  death. 

"  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you,"  she  repeated  in  her 
triumph,  bringing  him  nearer  within  the  circle  of  her 
arms,  her  lips  still  close  to  his. 

"  I  almost  —  hate  you ! "  he  answered  dully.  In  the 
silence  of  the  dim  room  something  seemed  to  break,  like 
the  snapping  of  a  taut  ligament.  He  seized  her  arms  and 
held  her  away,  looking  into  her  eyes,  which  were  soft  and 
wet.  The  intensity  of  her  gaze  had  melted  in  the  dream. 
Her  eyes  slowly  closed.  He  held  her  thus  in  his  rough 
grip,  fighting  for  one  last  moment,  in  one  last  struggle 
against  the  insane  visions,  the  cravings  of  his  body. 

"  No  !  no ! "  she  murmured.  "  /  know.  You  will  love 
me  always.  Why  fight  ?  " 


318  THE    HEAL   WORLD 

Ah !  Why  fight !  From  his  long  fight  with  the  ghosts 
of  things  as  they  are,  he  had  won  nothing,  nothing  —  not 
one  appeasement,  one  comforting  truth,  one  little  sip  of 
the  wine  of  life.  Why  fight  for  things  unseen,  and  not 
take  what  was  within  his  hands  !  Swiftly,  thinking  long 
thoughts  without  the  lapse  of  time,  he  made  his  last  strug 
gle,  unconscious  of  all  but  the  face  before  him,  the  woman 
he  held  in  his  convulsive  grip.  Imperceptibly  her  face 
faded,  the  sure  joyousness  departed  from  it,  and  she  be 
sought  him  with  her  eyes  not  to  fail  her.  This  appeal 
awoke  the  old  vision  of  his  youth,  his  boyish  dream  upon 
the  hillside,  but  the  woman's  face  was  another's.  This 
was  the  appeal  of  despair,  of  defeat !  For  the  first  time 
in  years  he  saw  the  other  as  he  had  seen  it  in  the  clear 
October  sunlight  of  his  dream,  and  the  vision  of  it  stayed 
his  heart.  The  beast  died  out  of  him.  He  opened  his 
hands  and  staggered  back  into  the  gloom  of  the  room. 

"Jack!     Jack!" 

The  cry  rang  out,  forlornly,  entreatingly ;  he  stepped 
forward  in  unconscious  obedience  to  it.  But  the  spell 
had  broken.  Painfully,  with  a  physical  sensation,  like 
the  lifting  of  vast,  dead  weight,  his  will  asserted  itself. 
There  came  to  him  the  curious  consciousness  of  having  a 
will,  the  power  to  lift,  to  thrust  something  from  him, 
to  act! 

"Jack,  you  can't  leave  me!  You  love  me,  don't  you 
understand?  And  now  I  have  you,  and  it  has  come 
together,  our  love.  What  is  the  matter,  Jack  ?  What 
is  the  matter?  We  have  waited,  oh,  so  long!  I  have 
been  blind  and  stupid.  I  did  not  know,  when  you  spoke 


THE   REAL   WORLD  319 

in  the  Park,  years  ago,  you  remember.  It  has  taken  me 
all  this  time  to  learn,  to  be  a  woman.  Now  I  know  —  it 
is  the  one  thing,  the  whole." 

She  spoke  rapidly,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm  in 
the  old  manner  of  intimate  appeal. 

"It  is  yours,  Jack,  all  that  I  have,  everything  — 
everything  you  wanted,  once." 

The  feeling  of  will,  —  the  sense  of  heavy  weights  to 
be  lifted,  lifted,  and  held  firm,  —  clogged  his  tongue. 
Finally  he  said,  in  a  drowsy  voice  as  to  himself :  — 

"  Yes,  I  want  you,  Elsie !  My  God,  how  I  want  you ! 
And  I  hate  you !  .  .  .  I  want  your  eyes  and  your  hair, 
your  lips  and  your  body,"  he  cried,  more  wildly,  wrench 
ing  out  the  brutal  words. 

She  listened,  the  soft,  sensuous  dream  stealing  over 
her  warm  face  once  more. 

"And  I  want  you,  Jack!  I  have  learned,  at  last. 
Give  me  peace  —  peace,"  she  repeated  softly,  her  arms 
falling  by  her  side. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  whispered,  breathing  hard,  once  more 
grasping  her  arms  and  drawing  her  to  him,  then  pushing 
her  away.  "I  —  will  not !  Do  you  hear ?  I  will  not ! 
I  want  you,  but  I  will  not." 

He  repeated  the  words  mechanically  and  again  walked 
away  as  if  to  feel  that  he  could  walk.  Elsie  dropped 
into  a  chair  and  leaned  toward  the  fire,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"  Coward !  "  she  moaned  desperately.     "  Coward ! " 

He  came  and  stood  by  her. 

"  Yes,  coward ! "  he  repeated  after  her.    "  Yes,  coward ! " 


320  THE   HEAL  WORLD 

"  A  man !  to  hold  what  you  have  wanted  for  years  in 
your  arms  and  afraid  to  —  to  take  it !  Listen !  I  am  a 
woman  —  a  bad  woman,  you  think.  That  doesn't  trouble 
me.  I  have  learned  to  take  from  life  what  I  want.  And 
if  I  were  to  suffer  for  it,  years  of  hell,  such  as  they  talk 
about  to  frighten  us,  I  would  still  take  it.  Yes,  I  would 
take  it  and  smile  through  my  years  of  hell  —  smile 
gladly,  having  once  tasted  joy  and  known  what  it  is.  I 
would  pay,  but  you  —  " 

"  I  am  afraid ! "  he  said  bluntly.  "  Not  of  hell  and 
what  you  talk  about.  But  I  am  afraid  —  of  myself." 

He  could  not  phrase  the  subtle  fear  that  had  held  him 
that  moment;  that  had  shown  him  the  twilight  land 
beyond  reason  and  a  man's  will. 

"  Afraid ! "  she  sneered.     "  Ah,  Jack,  Jack ! " 

Her  soul  knew  no  fears ;  what  she  touched  and  saw, 
that  only  she  knew. 

"  I  should  kill  you,"  he  burst  out.  "  I  want  you,  and 
I  should  kill  you  out  there  in  the  desert  beyond  life 
when  we  were  both  mad.  I  should  kill  you,  Elsie,  and 
then  kill  myself." 

She  trembled  in  spite  of  his  calm  tones,  feeling  the 
stronger  currents  of  his  nature,  which  threatened  to 
sweep  her  under.  He  knelt  by  her  chair  and  whispered 
to  her : — 

"  So  it's  best  not !  I  see.  I  know.  It's  best  not.  I 
should  kill  you,  Elsie ! " 

She  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  said  slowly :  — 

"  Well.     Kill  me,  then  !  " 

The  little  ground  of  resolution  he  had  won  slipped 


REAL   WORLD  321 

back  beneath  his  feet.  His  eyes  burned;  his  hands 
sweated,  as  if  the  body  shared  the  toil  of  the  soul.  He 
held  her  again  in  his  arms,  and  again  the  yielding  flesh, 
the  caressing  eyes  and  face,  the  warm  beating  blood 
called  him  insistently.  .  .  .  The  moments  danced  past, 
while  his  heart  stood  still. 

"  Then  kill  me ! "  she  repeated  softly. 

He  staggered  to  his  feet,  throwing  her  aside,  and 
strode  down  the  room.  At  the  door  he  paused.  She 
was  crying  in  little  sobs  of  despair  and  rage.  He  lis 
tened,  hesitated,  —  and  plunged  forward  into  the  dark 
hall. 

The  snow  had  ceased  to  fall,  leaving  a  cool,  dark, 
starry  vault  of  heaven.  On  the  pavements  the  soft  mat 
of  fresh  snow  muffled  the  footfalls  of  the  few  wayfarers. 
The  night  was  calm  and  luminous,  and  the  great  build 
ings  of  the  city  seemed  asleep  and  peaceful.  He  walked 
up  the  broad  avenue,  pleased  with  the  silence  of  his  muf 
fled  steps.  His  limbs  hung  heavy,  and  he  felt  his  body 
in  every  muscle.  But  the  tumult  of  his  mind  was  gone, 
as  a  bank  of  fog  is  scattered  by  some  strong  wind.  The 
vast,  cool  heavens  exhilarated  him ;  he  felt  strangely  con 
scious  of  moving  and  being,  of  mere  existence  upon  the 
inanimate  earth.  Thus  for  miles  he  went,  calm  and  sure 
with  measured  stride,  up  through  the  houses,  into  the 
deserted  Park,  on  up  the  heights  of  the  farther  city,  and 
beyond  the  straggling  apartment  buildings,  walking  upon 
the  earth  which  suddenly  was  new,  made  afresh,  created 
by  that  act  of  will  which  had  torn  him. 


322 


THE   KEAL   WORLD 


Something  created !  Something  real !  Something  his 
own !  Out  of  the  shadows  of  things,  out  of  the  broken 
ideals,  the  wooden  dummies  with  which  he  had  labored  so 
many  years,  a  world  seemed  to  be  born,  a  new  world  that 
was  true  to  the  touch,  where  he  could  live  and  work 
untormented  by  shadows.  He  felt  the  eternal  convic 
tion  of  will,  undebatable  and  undemonstrable,  —  the 
will  that  shapes  and  makes ;  the  will  that  creates  the 
real  from  the  unreal ;  the  will  that  out  of  pain  and  labor 
gives  peace ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  been  up  against  something 
pretty  hard,"  Stevenson  remarked  frankly  to  Jack,  after 
scrutinizing  his  face  for  some  moments.  "Too  much 
work!  No  vacation  in  three  years,  and  this  damned 
roar  always  beating  in  your  ears !  That's  no  way  to 
live ;  out  with  us  there's  work  enough  for  any  man,  but 
we  don't  live  beyond  a  five-cent  fare  from  the  open  coun 
try.  That's  the  great  thing,  —  to  know  you  can  get  away 
from  a  white  shirt  and  a  typewriter  any  day  you  want  to. 
Why  won't  you  come  out  and  try  it  for  a  time  ?  They 
aren't  making  it  so  fearfully  seductive  here,  are  they  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  will  try  it  for  good,"  Jack  answered  deliber 
ately,  wheeling  about  in  his  chair.  "Kimball  comes 
back  next  week,  and  I've  no  obligations  to  stay  on  after 
that.  I  have  been  meaning  to  write  you  that  I  was 
thinking  of  it." 

The  big  man  rose  and  slowly  put  out  his  heavy  iand. 

"We'll  make  a  man  of  you,"  he  exclaimed,  trying 
feebly  to  express  his  joy.  "  God,  how  I  have  wanted 
you  within  a  couple  of  hundred  miles !  We'll  pull  this 
railroad  business  off  sure,  now,  and  it'll  make  you  rich." 

Jack  smiled  ironically  at  Stevenson's  indomitable 
hyperbole,  but  the  big  man's  mood  exhilarated  him. 

"  Listen,"  Stevenson  continued,  striding  about  the  office 
323 


324  THE  REAL  WORLD 

in  his  excitement.  "  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  thing.  It's 
this  way :  either  we  win,  and  the  governor  saves  all  he's 
worked  for,  and  a  lot  of  other  people  who've  put  their 
savings  in  —  or  —  but  there's  no  'if  and  ( or '  about  it. 
We've  got  to  win,  if  we  take  to  guns  to  do  it." 

Jack,  who  knew  pretty  accurately  the  state  of  affairs 
with  the  Iowa  and  Northern,  was  less  sanguine  of  ultimate 
success,  but  in  his  present  frame  of  mind  that  considera 
tion  influenced  him  little. 

"  When  the  hard  times  came  on,"  Stevenson  broke  in, 
"  we  had  things  in  pretty  good  shape  as  I  told  you.  We 
had  just  made  some  favorable  traffic  arrangements,  the 
new  extensions  were  paying,  and  we  had  a  dividend  in 
sight.  Then  every  one  in  the  country  got  a  sour-belly 
view  of  things,  and  now  it's  hard  scratching  to  pay  the 
interest  on  the  bonds." 

"Do  you  know  where  the  bonds  are?"  Jack  asked 
suddenly. 

"  I  heard  that  a  bum  firm  of  New  York  brokers,  Greene 
or  something,  were  buying  all  that  were  offered." 

"And  from  Greenacre  they  went  to  whom,  do  you 
suppose  ?  " 

"Give  it  up.  They  were  cheap  enough,  —  in  the  for 
ties, — but  I  don't  see  what  your  eastern  capitalists  wanted 
of  them.  That's  been  bothering  us  a  good  deal." 

"I  don't  know  what  Greenacre  wanted  of  them,  but 
General  Mather  has  his  block  now." 

Jack  explained  briefly  the  transactions  following  the 
Greenacre  failure. 

"  Well,"  Stevenson  commented,  "  so  long  as  we  can  pay 


THE   REAL   WORLD  325 

the  interest,  it  don't  matter.  The  bonds  represent  only  a 
fraction  of  what's  gone  into  the  road,  and  we  don't  pro 
pose  to  give  any  of  your  Wall  Street  speculators  a  chance 
to  freeze  us  out." 

The  two  men  went  up  town  to  dine  at  Stevenson's  hotel, 
and  continued  their  discussion  of  the  Iowa  and  Northern 
affairs  far  into  the  evening.  Big  Steve  could  talk  of 
nothing  else. 

He  had  inherited  his  faith  in  the  little  railroad  from 
his  father ;  he  believed  in  it  with  all  the  fire  in  his  big 
body;  he  had  a  sentiment  for  it  as  for  some  righteous 
cause.  His  enthusiasm  touched  his  less  excitable  friend. 
Jack  felt  the  romance  of  the  story,  —  the  fight  that  the 
elder  Stevenson  had  made  for  his  fortune  and  the  for 
tunes  of  his  friends  who  had  trusted  him.  He  accepted 
Stevenson's  large  hopes  for  the  future,  "  when  the  coun 
try  recovered  from  its  sour-belly  fit  and  went  to  work." 
According  to  Stevenson  there  was  a  place  for  the  Iowa 
and  Northern  in  the  scheme  of  creation,  and  that  place 
must  be  won.  So  it  was  arranged  that  Jack  should  enter 
the  legal  department  of  the  road  in  Mound  City,  where 
Stevenson  also  had  his  headquarters  as  assistant  general 
manager.  Together  they  would  fight  the  coming  fight 
and  save  the  road  from  "  a  Wall  Street  reorganization." 
Jack  was  fired  with  the  sense  of  freer  life  and  creative 
purpose,  which  the  big  man  breathed ;  out  there  in  that 
new  land  a  man  might  see  his  will  take  shape  and  grow ! 

As  they  parted  that  night,  Stevenson  remarked :  — 

"I'd  hoped  to  see  Mrs.  Gushing  this  trip.  But  her 
place  is  closed  up,  and  the  servant  said  she'd  gone  to. 


326  THE   BEAL   WORLD 

Europe.  She  don't  let  time  hang  heavy  on  her  hands ; 
this  is  the  second  time  I've  missed  her.  Have  you  seen 
much  of  her  lately  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  good  deal,"  Jack  answered. 
"  Pretty  gay  ranch,  isn't  it  ?  " 
"  So  people  say,"  Jack  replied  impassively. 
Stevenson  soon  turned  to  another  subject. 
"  What's  become  of  the  Mathers  ?  " 
"  That's  a  long  story,  and  not  for  to-night." 
Jack  learned  that  Elsie  had  gone  to  Europe,  with  a 
sudden  feeling  of  relief.     For  the  triumphant  mood  of 
the  night  when  he  had  left  her  had  ebbed  as  the  conquer 
ing  moods  of  the  will  must  ebb,  and  again  and  again  he 
had  lived  over  the  struggle  of  will  and  desire.      Once, 
twice,  since  the  day  of  his  temptation,  he  had  gone  to 
the  Madison  Avenue  house,  drawn  by  the  terrible  in 
sanity,  the  abnegation  of  will,  which  forces  the  climber 
to  the  precipice.     He  had  looked  at  the  door  and  passed. 
He  learned  that  he  could  pass !     Between  the  real  and 
the  unreal  lay  that  misty  chasm,  from  which  for  all  his 
life  he  had  escaped  during  those  long  moments  in  that 
silent  room,  his  face  to  hers. 

There  were  a  number  of  things  to  be  done  before  he 
could  start  the  new  life  in  the  little  Iowa  town.  He  had 
thrown  himself  into  the  plan  with  all  his  will :  he  would 
close  the  old  chapters  of  his  life  and  begin  the  new  one 
without  links  to  the  past.  When  he  gave  notice  of  his 
intentions  to  his  firm,  Mr.  Hodder  sent  for  him  and  ex 
pressed  his  regret.  Mr.  Kimball  asked  some  searching 


THE   HEAL   WOULD  327 

questions  about  the  new  position,  and  when  Jack  men 
tioned  the  name  of  the  railroad,  the  two  lawyers  ex 
changed  glances.  Mr.  Kimball  remarked :  — 

"That's  a  pretty  shaky  concern!  Don't  you  think 
you  are  ill-advised  to  go  into  it  before  you  have  looked 
over  the  situation  more  carefully  ?  The  Iowa  and  North 
ern  has  a  bad  reputation." 

"  I  have  no  large  stake,"  Jack  replied.  "  I  shall  get 
a  salary,  and  when  that  ceases  I  must  look  elsewhere." 

"  You  are  giving  up  a  good  opening,"  Mr.  Hodder 
remonstrated.  "  We  had  intended  when  the  times  im 
proved  to  make  a  new  arrangement,  a  very  favorable 
arrangement,  for  you." 

Jack,  after  acknowledging  the  implied  offer,  stated  his 
determination  to  leave  New  York,  to  start  in  a  smaller 
place,  "  where  a  man  counted  for  more." 

Mr.  Kimball  observed,  smiling  indulgently  :  — 

"I  don't  know  where  a  man  counts  for  more  in  our 
country  than  in  New  York,  provided  he's  the  right 
man." 

"  You  mean  where  a  man  can  earn  more  money,"  the 
young  lawyer  corrected,  with  a  laugh. 

"  And  position,  and  professional  standing,"  Mr.  Hodder 
added  gravely. 

"  It  is  a  personal  question,"  Jack  replied,  after  reflec 
tion.  "  I  don't  believe  I  want  merely  money,  or  position, 
or  professional  reputation,  assuming  that  I  could  win  all 
that." 

"Yes,  it  is  a  personal  question,"  Kimball  assented 
coldly,  feeling  that  he  had  been  mistaken  in  the  maturity 


328  THE   REAL   WORLD 

of  the  capable  young  man  before  him.  "  But  I  think  you 
would  find  few  men  of  our  profession  who  would  prefer 
Mound  City,  Iowa,  to  a  favorable  opening  in  New  York." 

"Probably,"  Jack  agreed,  and  the  discussion  ended 
there. 

He  went  about  his  preparations  with  a  certain  exhil 
aration,  as  if  he  were  arranging  for  a  holiday.  Every 
thing  seemed  possible,  —  a  mood  of  optimism  caught 
from  Stevenson,  or  latent  in  himself,  and  repressed  while 
he  toiled  over  compromises  and  adjustments  in  the  office 
of  Hodder  and  Kimball.  He  determined  to  take  his 
sister  with  him,  for  his  mother  had  died  early  in  the 
winter,  leaving  Mary  at  the  age  of  thirty  with  the  cau 
tious  habits  and  views  of  an  elderly  spinster.  There 
were  also  Ruth's  two  little  children  to  be  looked  out  for. 
They  should  have  the  chance  he  had  lightly  promised 
their  dying  mother,  —  a  chance  in  a  new  world,  his  new 
world.  Concerning  this  plan  he  wrote  Miss  Mather, 
who  was  at  Pemberton  Neck;  finally  Aunt  Julia  brought 
the  children  to  New  York. 

"Your  uncle  is  too  old  to  travel,"  she  explained  to 
Jack,  complacently,  enjoying  the  experience,  with  an  air 
of  self-congratulation  upon  her  superior  mobility.  "  And 
your  uncle  ain't  decided  in  his  own  mind  yet  whether 
you're  on  the  right  road.  He's  waitin'  for  you  to  come 
to  the  Neck  and  put  up  a  new  hotel,  or  somethin'.  But 
I  trust  yer,  Jock.  The  dreamin'  ain't  done  no  harm  to 
anybody  so  fer." 

In  his  exuberant  mood  of  will,  his  fresh  imagination, 
he  formed  another  plan;  before  he  left  New  York  and 


THE    REAL   WORLD  329 

his  old  life,  he  would  find  Stella,  and  make  her  follow 
his  new  fortunes.  When  he  saw  her  and  opened  his 
plan  to  her,  she  was  sullen  at  first,  and  disinclined  to 
talk  with  him;  finally  she  agreed  to  walk  with  him 
out  to  the  Park  and  hear  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  I  shall  find  something  out  there  for  you,"  he  ended, 
"if  you  want  it,  —  if  you  want  to  live  with  your  child 
and  take  care  of  it." 

"There  ain't  nothing  for  me,"  Stella  answered,  with 
the  settled  dreariness  of  lassitude  and  poverty.  "  When 
a  woman's  getting  old,  like  I  am  —  " 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  he  interrupted,  the  irrepressible 
hopefulness  springing  freshly  before  the  darkest  prob 
lems.  "  It's  only  the  wish !  Steve  will  be  free  in  a  little 
while." 

"What's  that  to  me  or  to  you ? "  she  asked  sullenly. 

"  It  ought  to  be  something  to  you,  and  I  think  it  will 
be,"  he  replied,  overbearing  her  discouragement.  And 
he  persisted  in  his  idea  until  his  strong  purpose  had 
prompted  the  flabby  resolution  of  the  woman.  She 
saw  nothing  but  the  gravel  path  before  her  feet  and  the 
shabby  clothes  upon  her  body,  and  he  saw  more.  In 
time  she  came  to  see  with  him  a  little  way  into  the 
dim  future  of  things.  They  went  back  to.  the  city, 
and  when  Jack  left  her,  she  had  her  own  glimmer  of 
hope. 

*  "  If  you  don't  go  back  on  it,  like  the  rest,"  she  concluded 
fearfully.     "  You  won't  forget  ?  " 

"  Not  for  one  day." 

He  had  finished  what  there  was  for  him  to  do  in  New 


330  THE   REAL   WORLD 

York,  and  a  sense  of  peace  and  content  stole  over  him 
while  he  treaded  the  noisy  streets  these  last  days. 

The  second  morning  of  the  journey  to  Mound  City,  the 
train  was  crossing  the  fertile  farms  of  northern  Illinois, 
rolling  on  for  indefinite  miles  through  broad  corn-lands 
among  the  low  hills.  Very  early  in  the  morning  Jack 
awoke  and  watched  the  monotonous  landscape  with  a 
keen  interest  in  the  aspect  of  the  slightest  things.  He 
left  the  close  car  and  stood  upon  the  platform,  soothed 
by  the  slow  rhythm  of  the  great  train  and  the  fresh  air 
of  the  summer  day.  It  was  an  uninspiring  country,  — 
mile  after  mile  of  rolling  hill  and  corn-covered  plain, 
broken  at  intervals  by  small  shabby  houses  standing 
beside  large  barns  and  windmills  that  were  lazily  sweep 
ing  their  iron  wings  in  the  morning  air.  The  corn  was 
rank  and  high,  barely  tasselled,  rich  with  early  juices. 
It  was  a  peaceful  and  fertile  land,  —  ribbed  with  black 
loamy  roads  that  ran  over  the  low  hills  to  distant  horizons. 
Now  and  then  the  train  rumbled  over  a  culvert  above  a 
muddy  stream  already  sunk  between  its  clayey  banks  in 
summer  drought.  Not  a  beautiful  country,  surely !  But 
to  the  young  man  who  watched  it  unroll  from  the  speed 
ing  train,  it  seemed  a  land  vitally  real,  a  land  of  work, 
rich  in  promise  and  fertile  in  fulfilment. 

The  train  slackened  speed  and  halted  at  a  rough  wooden 
shed  on  the  outskirts  of  an  ugly  little  town  named  Ever 
green  Springs.  Some  heavy  farm  wagons,  their  broad 
tires  caked  with  dirt  from  the  clay  roads,  stood  about 
the  station,  loading  farming  machinery  from  the  freight 


THE   KEAL   WORLD  331 

shed.  The  strip  of  road  beyond  the  station  was  thick 
with  fine  dust,  and  the  grass  along  its  border,  yellow 
and  dead.  The  summer  sun  lay  broad  and  warm  upon 
the  town  and  stifled  the  breeze  from  the  prairies.  Such 
was  probably  Mound  City,  but  its  slovenly  aspect  did  not 
depress  the  stranger,  who  looked  at  it  curiously. 

Just  beyond  the  town  the  train  passed  the  walls  of  a 
dismantled  factory  building  of  considerable  size.  The 
abandoned  look  of  the  place  was  emphasized  by  the  fer 
tile  fields  that  reached  to  its  walls.  Something  broken 
and  old  and  wasted,  it  rose  sullenly  in  the  cloudless 
sky.  What  was  the  meaning  of  its  desolation  here  in 
this  new  country  ?  The  abortive  expenditure  of  energy 
and  purpose  was  a  scar  upon  the  land.  Jack  watched 
the  crumbling  stone  walls  recede  behind  the  train,  fasci 
nated  by  its  ruin  where  all  was  new.  It  spoke  of  old 
plans,  purposes  once  strong  and  vital  as  his,  that  had 
ceased  to  act  or  had  flowed  into  other  channels,  leaving 
this  monument  of  their  defeat  to  crumble  into  useless 
decay.  Was  it  so  with  all  effort  ?  Did  it  have  its  day 
of  life  and  energy,  of  existence,  and  then  was  it  thrown 
aside  like  a  used  garment  ?  Was  all  creation  but  the 
sport  of  the  hour  ?  And  the  world  real  for  a  moment,  — 
was  it  unreal  always  ? 

Like  a  cloud  out  of  the  burnished  sky  the  idea  dark 
ened  the  man's  mind,  while  the  train  sped  away  from  the 
deserted  building  —  a  mere  speck  upon  the  flat  fields. 
Then  he  dismissed  it  from  his  mind  unanswered.  Often, 
however,  during  the  future  months  while  he  was  toiling 
in  the  routine  of  affairs,  the  picture  of  the  abandoned 


332  THE   REAL   WORLD 

factory  would  rise,  unwelcome,  before  his  vision,  and  he 
would  wonder  whether  all  men  in  the  stress  of  accom 
plishment  were  haunted  by  this  imagination  of  defeat, 
of  mistake.  Again  and  again  his  strong  will  saved  him, 
the  will  to  put  the  vision  away  from  his  eyes,  the  will  to 
believe  that  waste  and  abortive  effort  assisted,  likewise, 
in  creation.  .  .  . 

Stevenson  was  at  the  station  in  Mound  City  to  wel 
come  the  newcomer,  with  his  father  and  Black,  who 
had  come  from  the  little  town  a  hundred  miles  away 
where  he  was  teaching.  The  elder  Stevenson  was  a 
large,  heavy  man,  loosely  built  like  his  son,  ponderously 
shy  and  kind.  They  walked  into  the  little  city,  and 
before  they  reached  the  brick  building  which  contained 
the  general  offices  of  the  Iowa  and  Northern,  Jack 
felt  that  he  had  known  the  heavy,  white-haired  man  for 
a  long  time.  That  evening  they  sat  on  the  broad  veranda 
of  the  Stevensons'  house,  where  Jack  was  to  make  his 
home  for  the  present,  and  talked  as  old  friends  who  had 
come  by  different  paths  to  meet  each  other.  The  silence 
of  the  summer  night  was  broken  now  and  then  by  a  puff 
ing  locomotive,  or  the  thud  of  freight  cars  as  a  long  train 
buckled  up  in  the  yards  below  the  city.  The  blue  circles 
of  the  arc  lamps  outlined  the  rambling  prairie  town,  and 
beyond  their  range  there  seemed  to  exist  a  vast  country 
into  which  the  locomotives  disappeared  with  shrill,  joy 
ful  calls. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  fight  came  even  before  it  was  expected.  As  Big 
Steve  expressed  it,  Jack  had  scarcely  time  to  get  his  coat 
off  and  to  size  up  the  ring,  before  the  first  round  was 
called.  Late  in  the  summer  the  railroad  defaulted  on  the 
interest  on  its  bonds.  The  elder  Stevenson  had  been  to 
St.  Louis  and  to  Chicago  to  raise  money,  and  had  failed. 
Then  he  had  turned  to  the  bondholders,  and,  in  company 
with  the  general  counsel  of  the  road  and  Jack,  had  held 
several  meetings  with  them,  and  arranged  the  preliminaries 
for  a  receivership  friendly  to  the  real  owners  of  the  road. 
But  the  disturbing  fact  could  not  be  disguised,  that  only 
a  minority  of  the  bondholders  were  represented  at  these 
meetings.  Where  were  the  other  bonds,  —  scattered  or 
in  powerful  hands  ? 

Early  in  October,  certain  Eastern  bondholders  made 
application  to  the  courts  for  foreclosure  and  the  appoint 
ment  of  a  receiver,  and  named  a  man  who  was  connected 
with  a  rival  road,  the  C.  I.  &  M.,  one  division  of  which 
ended  at  Mound  City.  This  move  disclosed  the  object  of 
buying  the  bonds :  the  receivership  proceedings  were  but 
the  first  step  in  taking  possession  of  the  Iowa  and 
Northern,  and  selling  it  out  to  its  stronger  rival,  at  the 
merely  nominal  price  of  the  bonds.  If,  as  Stevenson 
remarked,  the  stock  of  the  Iowa  and  Northern  had  been 

333 


334  THE   REAL   WORLD 

mere  water,  as  was  the  almost  universal  case  in  that  part 
of  the  country,  the  proceeding  would  have  been  just 
enough.  But  in  the  belief  of  the  Stevensons  and  the 
other  people  who  had  nursed  the  little  railroad,  the  bonds 
represented  less  than  a  third  of  the  true  value  of  the 
property.  Their  interests,  which  they  had  struggled  to 
preserve,  would  be  wiped  out  in  case  the  bondholders  took 
possession. 

So  while  Jack  was  settling  his  new  family  in  one  of  the 
frame  houses  on  the  edge  of  the  prairie  town  and  gradu 
ally  learning  to  comprehend  his  new  situation,  there  were 
gloomy  times  in  the  little  brick  building  that  held  the 
general  offices  of  the  Iowa  and  Northern.  Under  the 
leadership  of  Judge  Bestor,  the  general  counsel  for  the 
road  and  a  large  stockholder,  the  Stevenson  forces  pre 
pared  to  fight.  Their  minority  association  of  bondholders 
represented  less  than  a  third  of  the  bonds,  but  nine-tenths 
of  the  stock,  common  and  preferred.  The  elder  Stevenson 
went  East  to  secure  the  cooperation  of  the  few  bondholders 
he  knew.  But  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts,  there  seemed  to 
be  but  one  outcome  for  the  situation.  Thus  the  winter 
wore  on.  The  two  friends  went  over  and  over  the  affair, 
studying  every  aspect  of  the  road's  financial  history  to 
discover  some  loophole  of  escape. 

"  If  it  were  only  our  pile,"  Big  Steve  remarked  one 
Sunday,  when  they  were  reviewing  the  new  developments 
of  the  week  at  Jack's  dinner-table,  "  I  can  say  without 
any  flim-flam,  the  old  man  would  lose  without  kicking 
much.  He's  mortgaged  pretty  nearly  everything  —  all 
the  farm  lands  up  north,  and  the  Dakota  ranch,  but  he 


THE  REAL  WORLD  335 

could  stand  being  wiped  out  even  at  sixty.  So  could  I. 
There's  enough  money  to  be  made,  and  it  isn't  the  hardest 
trick  in  life  to  make  money.  But  it's  the  others,  the 
little  fellers,  the  old  friends,  who  put  their  money  in 
because  the  governor  urged  them  to ;  the  shopkeepers  in 
this  little  town,  who've  invested  their  savings  in  it ;  old 
Bill  the  agent  up  at  Pine  Forks  —  all  of  'em ! "  he  ended, 
with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  They  can't  lay  the  blame  on  you,"  Black,  who  was  visit 
ing  Jack  during  his  holidays,  observed. 

"  Won't  they ! "  Stevenson  retorted  brusquely.  "  You 
don't  know  humans  much  if  you  think  that.  They'll  curse 
us  worse  than  confidence  men.  They'll  say  we  sold  'em 
out,  and  have  got  the  profits  packed  away  in  a  bank  East. 
They'll  say  anything,  and  you  would,  too,  if  you  saw  all 
the  few  dollars  you  had  scraped  up  in  years  just  scratched 
from  the  slate  by  a  bit  of  Wall  Street  'reorganization.' 
How  did  you  feel  when  the  bank  bust  just  as  you  started 
at  college  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  feel,"  Black  answered  humorously.  "  I  was 
too  much  surprised  to  feel ! " 

"  Well,  if  you'd  had  to  start  over  again  from  the  first, 
you'd  have  got  over  your  surprise  mighty  quick ! " 

When  Black  left  the  room  to  find  Mary,  in  whom  he  was 
more  vividly  interested  than  in  the  Iowa  and  Northern, 
Jack  said  slowly :  — 

"There's  only  one  chance,  Steve.  We  must  get  hold 
of  Mather's  bonds,  if  he's  kept  them." 

"I  have  thought  of  that,"  the  other  replied.  "But 
he  mayn't  have  enough,  and  he  mayn't  have  kept  'em. 


336  THE   KEAL   WORLD 

Then  what's  the  likelihood  he's  going  to  join  us  ?  It's 
much  more  likely  he's  in  the  other  gang  already." 

"  I  rather  think  he  has  kept  them,  and  if  I  remember 
rightly,  they  were  a  goodish  lot.  Do  you  know,  from 
the  fact  that  Hodder  and  Kimball  made  the  application, 
I  think  the  General  is  back  of  the  Eastern  crowd." 

"Well?" 

"  We  must  get  him  to  have  a  change  of  heart." 

Big  Steve  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I'd  rather  tackle  a  German  Jew !  You  don't  know  the 
prejudices  of  that  Boston  crowd.  If  they  see  a  chance 
of  losing  a  cent,  they  get  scared  to  death.  Besides,  the 
old  General  is  a  Tartar,  isn't  he  ?  As  hard  as  one  of 
your  Maine  paving-stones  ?  " 

"Pretty  nearly,  but  I  should'like  to  try  him." 

"You  can  have  the  opportunity  fast  enough,  if  you 
want  it  bad!" 

When  the  elder  Stevenson  returned  from  the  East, 
he  confirmed  Jack's  conjectures :  General  Mather  was 
the  main  part  of  the  association  of  Eastern  bondholders, 
who  were  acting  through  Hodder  and  Kimball  as  attor 
neys.  Gushing,  who  had  forced  these  securities  upon 
the  Mathers  at  the  time  of  Greenacre's  failure,  had  over 
reached  himself.  It  seemed  likely  that  the  General 
would  reap  large  profits  from  the  despised  bonds,  and 
he  was  not  the  man  to  let  his  chance  slip  by  unim 
proved.  The  elder  Stevenson  had  as  little  confidence  as 
his  son  that  anything  could  be  done  in  that  direction. 
So  matters  drifted  on  until  March.  The  hearing  of 
the  suit  for  foreclosure  would  be  in  April. 


THE   HEAL   WORLD  337 

Jack  could  not  abandon  the  idea  that  something  might 
be  done  with  the  Mathers.  He  remembered  the  General's 
attitude  in  Hodder  and  .Kimball's  office  that  afternoon 
when  he  had  accompanied  his  daughter;  and  though 
the  old  man's  manner  had  been  cold  and  hard,  Jack 
believed  that  his  mind  was  not  closed  to  persuasion. 
As  the  date  for  the  hearing  drew  near,  and  final  defeat 
loomed  more  darkly  on  the  horizon,  the  Stevensons  lis 
tened  to  his  arguments. 

"  We  must  try  Mather,"  Jack  iterated.  "  It's  the  last 
chance." 

"  We'll  go  on,  then/'  Big  Steve  finally  agreed.  "  We 
shall  only  be  out  our  fares,  anyway." 

Even  the  elder  Stevenson's  eyes  flashed  with  a  trace 
of  their  old  hopefulness. 

"  If  he  could  only  see  it  as  I  see  it,"  he  muttered  to 
himself. 

"  We'll  make  him  ! "  Jack  asserted.  "  Let  Judge 
Bestor  get  us  every  possible  delay  at  Omaha.  Get  us 
a  week  or  ten  days  if  you  can." 

They  left  Mound  City  the  next  morning.  The  broad 
fields  were  still  under  the  plough  ;  here  and  there  the 
first  green  of  the  grass  colored  the  roadsides.  As 
the  train  passed  Evergreen  Springs,  the  gaunt  walls  of  the 
deserted  factory  struck  Jack's  eye.  It  stood  there,  in 
the  new  seed  time,  like  an  evil  omen  of  failure !  It 
had  been  a  mistake.  Man's  effort  in  building  its  stout 
wallc  had  been  abortive.  In  the  same  way  all  the 
struggles  of  the  brave  old  man  they  had  left  behind 
in  Mound  City  were  to  prove  useless  —  merely  mistaken 


338  THE   REAL   WORLD 

energy.  A  month  hence  his  labor  and  that  of  hundreds 
of  others  would  be  wiped  from  the  world  by  a  decree  of 
court.  All  the  invention  and  energy  that  had  gone  into 
the  creation  of  the  little  Iowa  and  Northern  was  a  waste. 

Thus  man  created,  as  for  eternity,  and  the  work  of  his 
will  crumbled  sooner  or  later,  to  give  place  to  some 
new  piece  of  creation,  indifferent  or  antagonistic  to  his. 
The  world  had  been  real  for  him,  with  limitless  avenues 
for  his  eager  feet,  but  the  world  died  with  him,  or  briefly 
thereafter.  Thus  cities  grew  and  decayed,  one  generation 
destroying  what  another  had  striven  to  create.  Why 
strive?  Why  not  accept  the  wind  of  fate,  as  it  blew, 
now  harsh,  now  soft  ?  In  the  interminable  change,  why 
seek  for  permanence  ? 

Yet  here  he  was,  hastening  with  all  the  passion  of  his 
soul  to  interpose  his  hand,  to  strive  against  some  other 
scheme  of  things,  to  make  his  own  will  prevail. 

Yes !  That  was  the  condition  of  human  life.  Each 
man  made  his  world,  filled  it  with  the  molten  metal  of  his 
own  visions,  created  it,  realized  it,  and  lived  in  it !  What 
matter,  then,  that  his  creations  died  early  or  late  in  the 
world  of  things  ?  Would  he  take  to  himself  the  privi 
lege  of  the  gods?  Was  it  not  enough  to  live  and 
create  ?  .  .  .  Jack  unconsciously  stretched  his  hands 
out  to  the  passive  earth,  eager  to  walk  upon  it  and  act, 
an  irresistible,  unreasoning  conviction  of  joy  in  existence 
flooding  back  to  his  body  and  soul. 

He  was  less  hopeful,  however,  two  days  later  as  he 
and  Stevenson  left  their  hotel  in  Boston  to  go  to  the 


THE   KEAL   WORLD  339 

office  of  Lord,  Mather,  and  Greenacre.  Two  days  of 
railroad  travel  had  given  him  time  to  see  all  the  obsta 
cles  in  his  way  and  to  feel  the  inevitable  reaction  from 
his  enthusiasm  for  his  plan.  As  he  thought  it  out  coldly, 
it  was  flimsy,  quixotic,  absurd,  unbusinesslike.  What 
good  reason  could  he  find  to  influence  this  cold,  experi 
enced  man  of  affairs  that  he  should  sacrifice  a  sure,  im 
mediate  advantage  for  the  sake  of  justice  to  some  remote 
people  ?  Why  should  the  General  rely  upon  his  word  ? 
It  was  sentimental,  nonsensical,  foredoomed  to  failure! 
Even  Big  Steve  was  less  boyish  and  exuberant  than 
usual.  They  walked  up  Washington  Street,  silent,  each 
preoccupied  with  his  own  fears. 

The  old  sign  had  disappeared.  In  its  place  in 
small  gilt  letters  were  two  names :  ROGER  MATHER, 
and  ROGER  MATHER,  JR.  The  firm  had  finally  gone  out 
of  existence.  Jack  found  some  small  comfort  in  that 
fact.  They  asked  to  see  General  Mather,  and  Jack 
sent  in  his  card.  Instead  of  the  General,  however,  Ned 
Mather  came  from  the  inner  office  and  welcomed  them 
cordially. 

"The  General  doesn't  come  in  often,"  he  explained, 
after  the  first  greetings.  "What  can  I  do  for  you? 
You  see  I  am  harnessed  at  last,  as  well  as  Roger.  He's 
in  there." 

Jack  determined  quickly  to  lay  the  case  before  young 
Mather,  to  secure  his  influence,  however  little  it  might 
be.  They  sat  down  there  in  the  outer  office,  and  Jack 
stated  the  affair  of  the  bonds,  the  foreclosure,  and  the 
object  of  his  visit,  as  briefly  as  possible.  Young  Mather 


340  THE   REAL   WORLD 

listened,  comprehending  more  easily  than  Jack  had 
hoped.  At  the  end  he  said  :  — 

"  So  these  New  York  sharks  are  squeezing  the  breath 
out  of  you,  and  you  want  us  to  give  your  people  a  chance 
to  breathe  ?  " 

Jack  nodded. 

"  That's  it !  "  Stevenson  exclaimed. 

Young  Mather  laughed  in  a  detached  manner. 

"Why,  the  General  and  Roger  are  hugging  themselves 
over  the  idea  that  they  are  squeezing  so  successfully ! 
They  wouldn't  let  go  for  worlds." 

Stevenson  rose  immediately,  a  round  oath  in  his  mouth. 
He  wanted  to  punch  somebody.  Jack  said  nothing. 
After  young  Mather  had  had  another  laugh,  he  added :  — 

"  Of  course,  you're  right.  I  should  like  to  help  you 
out,  I  really  should." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  Jack  asked  doubtingly. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  These  bonds  are  my  only  rehabili 
tation  in  the  family.  They  got  them  through  me,  by 
some  odd  chance,  and  they're  the  only  profitable  things 
they  ever  got  through  me." 

"  We  don't  ask  you  to  throw  'em  away,"  Stevenson 
put  in. 

"  I  don't  care  what  they  do  with  them,"  Mather  re 
marked  pleasantly.  "  I'll  state  your  case  to  Roger,  any 
way.  Come  in  early  this  afternoon.  Perhaps  the  General 
will  be  here.  I  was  going  out  of  town,  but  I  suppose 
you  are  in  a  hurry." 

"The  fellow  who  is  getting  squeezed  generally  is," 
Stevenson  answered  ruefully. 


THE   EEAL   WORLD  341 

When  the  two  men  returned  in  the  afternoon,  they 
were  shown  into  the  inner  office.  Instead  of  the  General, 
whom  Jack  had  hoped  to  see,  Roger  Mather  walked  in, 
after  keeping  them  waiting  half  an  hour.  He  bowed 
very  slightly  to  Stevenson  and  his  companion,  and  sat 
down  at  his  desk.  He  was  whiter,  less  athletic  than  his 
younger  brother,  and  colder,  more  indifferent  in  his 
manners,  which  were  scrupulously  polite.  He  looked  at 
Jack  as  if  he  had  never  seen  him  before,  and  Jack 
knew  that  they  were  wasting  their  time  sitting  there, 
whatever  value  it  might  have  to  them. 

"My  brother  has  told  me  of  your  extraordinary 
errand,"  Mather  said  slowly.  "  I  can  answer  you  very 
briefly.  Our  interests  are  in  the  hands  of  Hodder 
and  Kimball  of  New  York.  I  advise  you  to  see 
them." 

"  Can  we  see  General  Mather  ?  "  Jack  asked,  rising  at 
once  from  his  chair. 

"  The  General  rarely  comes  in  from  Eiverside,"  Mather 
answered  slowly,  looking  at  Jack  with  a  gleam  of  passion 
in  his  eyes.  "  Besides,  he  would  not  see  you  in  any  case. 
I  have  answered  you." 

So  here  was  the  brief  conclusion  of  his  cherished  plan. 
He  could  not  even  see  General  Mather !  Eoger  Mather 
eyed  him  for  several  moments  with  the  insolent  assur 
ance  of  having  given  checkmate.  What  evil  chance  had 
put  this  man  again  in  his  path  ?  He  longed  to  seize 
him ;  to  feel  his  fingers  about  his  enemy's  neck,  as  he 
had  years  before. 

"  Come ! "  Stevenson  muttered,  turning  away. 


342  THE   REAL  WORLD 

Jack  waited,  trying  to  find  some  words;  and  then 
slowly  took  his  hat  and  followed  Stevenson.  A  futile 
rage  choked  him.  He  might  have  foreseen  from  the 
start  this  inevitable  defeat.  He  had  rushed  blindly  into 
the  hands  of  his  enemy.  The  old  quarrel  had  lain  buried 
in  his  heart  with  his  old  love,  his  old  world.  But  as  the 
two  friends  slowly  and  silently  retraced  their  way  to 
their  hotel,  hate  of  this  man  raged  and  scorched  him 
afresh.  Hitherto  he  had  fought  the  battle  for  the  sake 
of  his  friend,  —  for  his  belief  in  the  real  justice  of  his 
cause.  Now  he  longed  to  win  in  order  that  he  might 
whip  the  cold,  sneering  man  whose  life  he  had  once 
held  in  his  strong  hands. 

"  I  suppose  that  ends  it,"  Stevenson  remarked  as  they 
reached  their  hotel. 

"  I  suppose  so  ! "  Jack  admitted  heavily. 

"Let's  have  a  drink,"  Stevenson  suggested.  "If  I 
don't,  I'll  hit  somebody." 

While  they  waited  for  their  drinks,  Jack's  mind 
throbbed.  He  could  not  give  up !  A  part  of  the  strong 
new  world  under  his  feet  seemed  to  be  slipping  away. 
The  brute  clamor  of  his  will  drove  him  on.  As  Steven 
son  finished  his  glass  and  slowly  pulled  his  heavy  body 
upright,  with  a  little  boyish  sigh  of  disappointment, 
Jack  said:  — 

"  I  am  going  out  there  —  to  see  the  General." 

"  Better  save  your  car-fare,"  Stevenson  advised. 

"It  isn't  much  —  seventy  cents  round  trip,"  Jack 
answered  dryly.  "Besides,  it's  my  old  home.  Don't 
you  want  to  visit  the  home  of  my  youth  V  " 


THE   REAL   WORLD  343 

"Thanks.  I'm  going  to  see  Nethersole —  and  try 
to  get  some  consolation  out  of  this  damned  town," 
Stevenson  grumbled. 

"  You'll  see  me  back  before  long." 

"Hope  so." 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  servant  said  that  General  Mather  was  walking  in 
the  garden  with  his  daughter,  and  offered  to  call  him. 
But  Jack  intimated  that  he  would  find  them,  —  he  knew 
his  way,  —  and  the  servant  let  him  out  of  the  old  hall 
to  the  terrace  above  the  gardens.  He  could  see  the 
General  at  the  other  end  of  the  walk,  near  the  summer 
house,  leaning  on  his  cane,  while  his  daughter  stooped  to 
pick  something  from  the  border.  Jack  walked  down  the 
path,  his  heart  beating  in  trepidation.  At  the  sound  of 
his  steps  on  the  walk,  General  Mather  looked  up  and 
scrutinized  him,  waiting  for  him  to  explain  himself. 
He  did  not  bow,  even  when  Jack  raised  his  hat,  but 
across  the  old  man's  face  there  passed  an  expression  of 
recollection.  Jack  thought  that  the  General  knew  per 
fectly  well  who  he  was. 

"  General  Mather,"  he  said  finally,  when  he  was  but  a 
few  feet  from  the  old  man. 

At  the  sound  of  the  words  Miss  Mather  turned,  and  per 
ceiving  Jack,  hurried  toward  him,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"  What  good  fortune  brought  you  here  ! "  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  cordiality  unusual  in  her  manner.  "  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  you !  Papa,  you  remember  Mr.  Pemberton.  You 
met  him  at  Mr.  Hodder's  office  —  in  New  York,"  she 
added  slowly. 

344 


THE  REAL   WORLD  345 

General  Mather  bowed  very  slightly  and  murmured 
through  his  thin  lips,  "  Mr.  Peinberton." 

His  eyes  were  as  sharp  as  ever,  and,  as  they  covered 
the  young  man,  the  recollection  of  the  General's  reading 
the  account  of  Steve's  embezzlement  flashed  oddly  into 
Jack's  mind. 

"  Do  you  like  it  in  Iowa  ?  "  Miss  Mather  continued, 
trying  to  cover  up  her  father's  coldness  of  manner.  "  Are 
you  still  with  Mr.  Stevenson  in  the  railroad  ?  " 

She  asked  a  great  many  questions,  to  which  Jack 
answered  vaguely.  The  old  man's  blue  eyes  still  rested 
on  him,  and  the  impartial  scrutiny  took  away  the  little 
confidence  he  had.  The  three  moved  toward  the  house. 
Jack  paused  on  the  terrace,  and  said  hurriedly  that  he 
had  come  to  see  the  General  on  business. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  General  Mather  asked  abruptly,  as  if 
any  business  that  the  young  man  might  have  with  him 
could  be  transacted  where  they  stood.  Miss  Mather  turned 
away  and  busied  herself  with  a  vine  that  was  pushing  its 
spring  growth  over  the  wall.  Jack  began  awkwardly :  — 

"  It  is  concerned  with  the  railroad  I  am  connected  with 
—  the  Iowa  and  Northern." 

The  old  man  did  not  betray  by  the  quiver  of  a  muscle 
that  he  had  ever  heard  of  that  piece  of  property.  Jack 
told  his  story,  at  first  stumbling  over  the  details,  and 
somewhat  vague  at  important  points,  but  speaking  more 
fluently  as  he  went  on,  seeming  to  realize  that  the  case 
was  lost  but  that  he  could  make  this  old  man  feel  it  was 
a  case  worth  fighting  for.  Some  passion  crept  into  his 
tones  as  he  painted  the  cynical  methods,  by  means  of 


346  THE    REAL   WORLD 

which  hundreds  of  little  owners  were  to  be  wiped  out, 
and  the  property  turned  over  to  its  rival  for  a  merely 
nominal  sum,  which  would  be  shared  by  people  who 
had  bought  the  bonds  at  forty  cents  on  the  dollar  as 
a  pure  speculation.  At  the  close  the  old  man  asked 
simply :  — 

"  Did  you  go  to  my  office  ?  " 

Jack  nodded. 

"  Did  you  see  my  son  ?  " 

"Yes." 

«  What  did  he  say  ?  » 

"  He  referred  me  to  the  lawyers  who  represent  the  ma 
jority  bondholders  —  the  very  people  who  are  conducting 
this  deal." 

General  Mather  nodded  approvingly. 

"  That  is  what  I  should  have  said." 

"You  will  not  consider  any  other  method  of  —  of  ac 
tion  ?  "  Jack  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

General  Mather  moved  toward  the  door  of  the  house, 
and  for  reply  said :  — 

"  No !  I  don't  like  to  consider  business  matters  in  my 
house.  Isabelle,  I  think  it  is  growing  cold.  I  shall  go 
in  for  my  tea." 

He  bowed  to  Jack  and  left  the  terrace. 

For  a  minute  Jack  stood  where  he  had  been  left,  star 
ing  out  at  the  garden  with  the  summer  house  at  the  end 
of  the  vista,  his  mind  dulled  by  the  sense  of  absolute 
defeat.  He  had  clung  tenaciously  to  every  hope,  and 
now  that  there  was  not  one  left,  he  felt  an  unreasonable 
despair,  an  inability  to  pull  himself  together. 


THE   REAL   WOULD  347 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  Miss  Mather  said,  her  eyes  flashing 
with  anger.  "  It  is  Eoger,  I  am  afraid." 

Jack  scarcely  heard  her.  He  had  forgotten  that  she 
was  there. 

"I  am  very,  very  sorry,"  she  continued.  "I  see  it 
all !  It  is  a  mere  matter  of  business  to  these  bondhold 
ers.  They  have  bought  cheaply  and  want  to  sell  for  a 
high  figure.  And  the  other  road  can  afford  to  pay  them 
par  for  their  bonds  and  more,  because  they  haven't  to 
pay  the  others  who  really  own  the  road." 

"That  is  about  it,"  Jack  answered  wearily.  "No 
wonder  the  ignorant  fellow  on  a  farm  wants  to  pay  his 
debts  in  cheap  money,  when  this  is  the  way  —  " 

He  broke  off,  realizing  that  he  was  talking  to  a  woman 
who  could  not  be  interested  in  his  conclusions. 

"I  have  failed — that  is  all.  And,  of  course,  I  see 
but  one  side.  We  offer  very  little  but  promises  to  the 
bondholders  for  waiting  until  better  times.  Good-by  — 
I  must  get  back  to  town." 

"  Don't  go ! "  Miss  Mather  exclaimed.  "  You  mustn't 
fail !  You  did  it  badly.  You  shouldn't  have  approached 
papa  in  that  way.  He  hates  to  be  taken  by  surprise. 
He  isn't  a  hard  man  or  unjust,  but  he  has  been  very  un 
successful  lately  and  thinks  he  has  been  cheated.  I  am 
sure  if  he  could  have  the  matter  presented  to  him  differ 
ently,  at  another  time,  he  would  feel  more  disposed  to 
help  your  friends.  You  should  have  written  to  me  first.'' 

"I  didn't  think  of  that,  and  I  am  not  sure  I  should 
have  done  it,  anyway,"  Jack  answered,  with  the  man's 
dislike  of  engaging  feminine  cooperation  in  a  business 


348  THE   HEAL   WORLD 

affair.  "Then  there  is  your  brother.  General  Mather 
had  to  be  won  at  once  before  — "  He  hesitated  again. 

"Before  Roger  could  influence  him,"  she  supplied. 
"  Yes,  Roger  would  do  all  in  his  power  to  defeat  you,  I 
am  afraid." 

Her  heightened  color  and  embarrassed  manner  made 
Jack  wonder  whether  she  knew  the  reasons  for  her  broth 
er's  animosity  to  him. 

"  So  it  is  of  no  use,"  Jack  ended.    "  It  is  too  late  now." 

"  No !  no ! "  the  woman  protested.  "  Roger  doesn't 
come  out  here  very  often.  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  his 
influence.  Tell  me  more  about  the  road,  all  that  you 
would  have  told  my  father  if  you  had  had  a  good  chance. 
Perhaps  I  can  do  something." 

He  told  her  every  detail  that  he  knew,  without  much 
belief  in  her  ability  to  change  his  ill  fate,  but  grateful  to 
her  for  her  sympathy.  As  he  went  into  the  matter, 
describing  the  people  concerned  in  the  road,  whom  he 
had  learned  to  know,  and  explaining  the  legal  questions 
involved,  he  warmed  again  with  his  old  enthusiasm  and 
passion  for  the  justice  of  his  cause. 

"  You  see,"  he  ended,  "  how  a  small  matter  of  business 
involves  the  happiness  of  a  lot  of  people.  This  affair  is 
a  drop  in  the  Wall  Street  bucket,  but  it  means  a  great 
deal  for  some  decent  people." 

"It  means  justice!"  Miss  Mather  exclaimed,  with  a 
curious  vibration  of  sympathetic  passion  in  her  voice. 

"  Justice  —  and  for  my  friend  and  my  friend's  father, 
the  power  to  keep  faith  with  people  who  have  trusted 
them." 


THE   REAL  WORLD  349 

"  Yes ! "  she  assented,  touched  by  this  appeal  even 
more  than  by  the  other. 

They  looked  into  the  quiet  garden  without  speaking 
until  Jack  moved :  — 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  we  had  the  talk,  —  we  agree,  and  the 
failure  —  " 

"  Come  to-morrow  about  eleven."  She  interrupted  his 
idle  speech  with  her  sanguine  words.  "  You  will  see  my 
father  again,  I  think,  at  that  time,  and  don't  put  too 
much  emphasis  on  his  chance  of  getting  as  much  for  his 
bonds  if  he  joins  your  side.  Let  him  feel  the  justice  of 
your  cause.  You  and  I  and  he  are  of  the  same  blood ! " 
she  concluded. 

"  I'll  make  it  strong  enough  ! " 

"  To  think  that  after  all  it  will  depend  very  largely  on 
whether  he  has  a  good  night  or  not !  One  takes  a  more 
liberal  view  of  one's  neighbors  after  a  good  sleep,"  she 
remarked  whimsically  as  they  shook  hands. 

The  next  morning  Jack  arrived  at  Riverside  rather  too 
early  for  his  appointment,  and  to  pass  the  time  before 
eleven  o'clock  he  strolled  through  Pancoast  Lane,  trying 
to  recall  in  its  twists  and  turns,  its  cottage  fronts  and 
gnarled  trees,  the  vast  geography  it  had  been  to  him  as 
a  boy.  When  he  reached  the  house  where  he  had  been 
born  and  lived  so  many  phantom  years,  he  scarcely 
recognized  it.  The  dirty  stucco  walls  had  been  freshly 
sanded  and  tinted ;  the  decayed  fence  had  been  replaced 
by  a  thick  hedge;  the  yard,  where  burdocks  and  plan 
tains  had  rioted,  was  covered  with  grass.  The  spot  which 
he  had  imagined  all  these  years  as  a  kind  of  cave  of 


350  THE    REAL   WORLD 

despair,  had  become  the  suburban  home  of  some  clerk, 
and  the  two  little  children  playing  in  the  front  yard  had 
taken  the  place  of  his  own  discordant  family.  The 
change  in  his  old  home  gave  him  in  some  remote  way 
fresh  courage  and  hope.  That  miasmatic  past  had  faded 
into  the  unreality  from  which  it  had  originally  come. 
The  discords,  the  phantoms,  which  had  engulfed  his 
father  had  fled.  With  hope,  positive  and  vital,  stirring 
in  his  heart,  he  left  Pancoast  Lane  and  climbed  the  little 
hill  to  General  Mather's  house.  He  found  the  old  man 
sitting  before  a  coal  fire  in  one  of  the  first  floor  rooms, 
which  he  used  for  a  private  library. 

"  Well,"  the  General  said,  pointing  to  a  chair  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fire,  "my  daughter  felt  that  you 
didn't  get  a  fair  hearing  yesterday." 

The  smile  that  broke  beneath  the  white  mustache  con 
vinced  Jack  that  the  General  had  had  the  necessary  sleep. 

"I  was  weak  in  pleading  my  case,"  Jack  responded 
buoyantly,  "but  I  have  got  my  nerve  this  morning." 

"  Go  on,"  General  Mather  said  briefly,  shielding  his 
face  from  the  fire  with  a  newspaper. 

And  Jack  had  his  chance.  The  General  made  no  com 
ments,  did  not  interrupt,  and  frequently  hid  his  face 
behind  the  newspaper,  but  Jack  felt  the  old  man's  eyes 
ferretting  into  his  mind,  his  ears  absorbing  every  word, 
his  keen  mind  revolving  every  consideration  presented. 
When  Jack  had  finished  his  plea,  the  General  said  noth 
ing  for  a  time  which  seemed  to  the  young  man  inter 
minable.  Finally,  scratching  his  thin  white  beard,  he 
observed  tentatively :  — 


THE  REAL  WORLD  351 

"  Your  people  out  there  in  the  West  are  rather  fond  of 
getting  out  of  their  obligations.  That's  what  all  this 
silver  talk  amounts  to." 

"  As  for  that,"  Jack  replied,  "  I  can't  say.  I  am  a 
stranger  still.  But  I  know  that  the  Stevensons  aren't 
that  kind!" 

"  You  think  this  man  Stevenson  is  honest  ?  " 

"I  knoiv  he  is  honest." 

"  Well,  is  he  a  big  enough  man  to  reorganize  the  prop 
erty  and  make  it  pay  ?  " 

"That  it  would  be  hard  to  tell,"  Jack  answered 
cautiously.  "But  one  fact  is  sure:  the  C.  I.  &  M. 
wants  the  road,  needs  it,  and  they  will  pay  a  good 
deal  more  than  they  are  likely  to  under  the  present 
scheme." 

"You  are  asking  me  to  take  a  very  large  risk.  I 
suppose  you  know  how  many  of  these  bonds  I  hold  ?  " 

"  Only  roughly.  But  the  bonds  are  good  —  at  least  for 
what  was  paid  for  them." 

General  Mather  smiled  and  again  scratched  his  beard. 

"You  think  they  will  resume  payment  on  the  bonds 
within  a  year  ?  You  see,  I  have  to  trust  your  informa 
tion  entirely !  " 

"You  could  send  your  own  men  out  to  examine  the 
property,"  Jack  suggested. 

"  That  would  take  some  time.  I  understand  that  the 
need  is  urgent." 

"Immediate ! " 

And  all  had  been  said. 

General  Mather  looked  at  Jack,  and  then  looked  at 


352  THE  EEAL  WORLD 

the  fire.  Jack  knew  later  how  great  a  risk  he  had  asked 
the  General  to  run.  Moreover,  in  the  last  years  there 
had  been  severe  losses  on  many  of  the  Mather  invest 
ments.  Other  Western  railroads,  and  mines  also,  had 
ceased  to  pay  their  fixed  charges.  Ever  since  Green- 
acre  and  Co.  had  failed,  General  Mather  had  lost  money. 
He  was  no  longer  a  very  rich  man. 

These  considerations  were  doubtless  passing  through 
the  old  man's  mind,  and  others  also,  which  would  be 
difficult  to  state  in  exact  terms.  It  was  said  among  his 
financial  associates  that  Mather  had  lost  none  of  his 
shrewdness,  his  tenacious  grasp,  —  the  money-making 
trick,  —  in  spite  of  his  advanced  age.  The  blood  ran 
thinner,  the  transparent  skin  grew  whiter,  but  the  cold 
blue  eyes  were  as  piercing  as  ever.  Yet,  at  the  begin 
ning  of  his  seventieth  year,  the  old  man  was,  possibly, 
in  a  more  favorable  mood  for  committing  a  rash  quixotism 
than  ever  before  in  his  life.  He  had  never  cherished  any 
illusions  about  most  aspects  of  life,  and  least  of  all  about 
his  sons.  That  they  were  futile  people,  he  had  accepted 
years  ago  as  a  grim  irony.  He  had,  nevertheless,  scarcely 
considered  whether  it  would  be  well  to  leave  in  their 
weak  hands  his  estate.  Like  many  men  of  his  class  he 
had  skilfully  contrived  a  trust  into  which  his  fortune 
would  go  until  the  third  generation  appeared,  —  in  the 
vague  hope  that  this  future  generation  might  be  strong 
enough  to  hold  it. 

As  he  listened  to  the  young  lawyer's  arguments,  there 
fore,  he  was  not  much  disturbed  by  fears  of  loss  of  prop 
erty.  To  keep  his  wealth,  to  hand  it  on  to  the  uncertain 


THE   REAL   WORLD  353 

future,  did  not  appeal  so  strongly  to  the  old  man  as  it 
would  have  appealed  to  him  years  before.  Moreover,  the 
plea  for  justice,  which  his  daughter  had  urged  Jack  to 
make  the  bulwark  of  his  argument,  had  its  effect.  The 
sense  of  justice  detached  itself  from  personal  considera 
tions,  from  petty  human  motives ;  as  years  before  it  had 
urged  him  to  the  great  conflict,  now  it  urged  him  —  old, 
passionless,  removed  from  the  stress  of  life  —  to  perform 
an  iinselfish  act.  Thus  the  old  man  ended  where  the 
young  man  began.  From  out  the  shifting  panorama  of- 
his  life,  with  all  its  experience  of  men,  good  and  bad, 
in  labor  to  obtain  their  desires,  few  considerations  ap 
pealed  to  him  as  important,  steadfast,  eternal,  as  did 
this  consideration  of  human  justice. 

The  old  man  still  thought  to  himself,  while  Jack 
waited,  counting  the  moments  and  wondering  what  was 
passing  behind  the  bloodless  face  opposite  him.  ...  It 
was  an  unbusinesslike,  young  man's  scheme.  The  General 
knew  that  well  enough.  He  knew  the  inhuman  laws 
of  human  business.  He  knew  the  chicanery  of  Wall 
Street  —  no  one  better.  He  knew  that  when  one  man 
had  an  advantage  he  must  press  it,  even  if  he  squeezed 
the  breath  of  life  from  some  unknown  neighbor.  He 
had  never  mixed  philanthropy  and  business.  But  now, 
when  he  was  about  to  relinquish  his  share  in  the  human 
game,  the  desire  to  win  no  longer  drove  him  on.  He 
looked  down  upon  life  and  saw  writ  large  therein  a 
few  truths,  —  mercy,  trust,  justice. 

"  I  will  write  the  necessary  letters  this  afternoon,"  he 
said  quietly,  when  he  had  finished  his  meditation. 

2A 


354  THE   REAL   WORLD 

"  You  will  withdraw  from  the  majority  bondholders  ! " 
Jack  stammered,  scarcely  comprehending. 

"No,"  the  old  man  responded,  with  a  slow  smile. 
"The  minority  will  become  the  majority  —  that  is  what 
you  want,  isn't  it  ?  My  daughter  wishes  you  to  dine  with 
us.  We  dine  at  one  o'clock.  You  will  find  her  in  the 
library  across  the  hall.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Pemberton." 

There  was  something  cold  and  distant  even  in  the  old 
man's  amenities.  Jack  left  him  without  thanking  him, 
subtly  aware  that  the  considerations  which  had  induced 
the  General  to  act  were  not  ones  that  called  for  thanks. 
When  Jack  opened  the  door  to  the  library,  Miss  Mather 
rose  from  her  desk,  where  she  had  been  writing  a  letter, 
and  came  to  meet  him,  an  expectant  smile  upon  her  face. 

"  You  succeeded  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  General  had  his  good  night ! " 

"  Oh !  Papa  is  a  dear  !  You  have  to  present  things 
to  him  in  proper  form,  though,"  Miss  Mather  rejoined, 
thus  admitting  her  woman's  share  in  the  triumph. 
"  And  I  presented  a  few !  " 

"I  felt  that!"  Jack  exclaimed.  "Without  you  we 
should  have  lost." 

"Perhaps.  But  now  you  want  to  send  some  tele 
grams,  don't  you  ?  And  write  letters  ?  This  afternoon 
you  shall  do  no  business  ! " 

She  left  him  to  send  his  telegrams,  against  his  will, 
for  he  was  eager  to  go  over  the  affair,  to  savor  all  the 
pleasure  of  the  triumph  with  this  intelligent,  sympa 
thetic  woman.  But  he  sat  down  at  her  desk  and  did 
as  he  was  bid. 


THE   REAL   WORLD  355 

After  dinner  they  strolled  through  the  garden,  where 
the  first  tentative  shoots  of  spring  were  pushing  their 
way  in  the  May  sunshine.  They  came  to  the  old  pavil 
ion  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  where  once  Jack  had 
concealed  the  loot  taken  from  old  man  Cliff's  fertile  beds. 
It  had  been  repaired,  and  held  some  garden  chairs  and  a 
table  for  the  tea  service. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  I  used  to  break  through  into 
this  place,  and  you  came  here  until  —  " 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Mather  interrupted,  slowly  blushing.  "  I 
remember  very  well!  I  must  have  been  a  nasty  little 
girl." 

"You  couldn't  understand  —  when  I  tried  to  explain 
how  some  things  were  real  and  some  were  not,  and  how 
hard  it  was  to  know  which  were  really  real,  —  those  that 
most  people  thought  were  so,  —  or  the  other  things ! " 

"  I  understand  now  a  little  better." 

"  It  was  odd ! "  Jack  mused.  "  It  has  all  been  odd  — 
until  very  lately.  I  don't  wonder  you  thought  I  was  not 
a  desirable  acquaintance,"  he  continued,  with  a  laugh. 
"  But  it  was  true,  what  I  tried  to  tell  you ;  the  deepest 
truth  I  knew.  There  were  two  worlds !  And  only  very 
lately  I  discovered  which  was  real." 

They  talked  through  the  long  afternoon,  intimately,  as 
if  they  had  gone  back  to  the  simple  time  when  they  were 
boy  and  girl.  He  told  her  of  the  dreams  he  had  dreamed, 
which  were  more  real  than  what  people  called  the  world ; 
of  the  struggle  that  had  made  up  his  life  between  these 
two  worlds ;  of  the  conquest  by  the  dead  benumbing 
world  during  the  years  he  had  labored  in  New  York, 


356  THE    REAL   WORLD 

and  of  the  final  escape,  —  the  truths  he  had  never  spoken, 
had  but  half  realized ;  the  truths  a  man  speaks  of  rarely, 
if  he  cherishes  them. 

"  And  now  I  know,"  he  said,  speaking  as  much  to  him 
self  as  to  her.  "  Life  is  splendidly  real !  This  promise 
of  your  father  is  a  part  of  it.  ...  He  mustn't  lose ! " 
he  broke  off  grimly. 

"  He  will  not  lose,"  she  answered,  with  conviction. 

"No!  Stevenson  will  feel  double  obligation,  now. 
How  relieved  he  must  be !  He  can  go  back  to  that  town 
and  look  his  neighbors  in  the  face.  The  men  who  have 
trusted  him  will  not  be  ruined." 

They  walked  slowly  to  the  terrace,  Jack's  mind  still 
full  of  this  topic. 

"  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  kept  faith ! "  he  exclaimed, 
thinking  of  Stevenson  and  the  troubled  affairs  of  the 
Iowa  and  Northern. 

"  Yes,"  the  woman  responded,  looking  at  Jack,  her 
eyes  illuminated  with  a  larger  thought.  "  It  is  a  great 
thing  to  have  kept  faith  with  life ! " 


EPILOGUE 

AFTER  the  days  of  heavy  September  rain  the  sky  is 
purest  blue  along  the  North  Shore,  and  the  air  so  trans 
parent  that  the  distant  hills  of  Green  Bay  mount  firm 
and  large  from  the  water's  edge.  The  westerly  wind 
sweeps  across  the  Bay,  crowding  far  out  to  the  open  sea 
the  last  wreaths  of  the  broken  fog-banks.  Then  the 
restless  summer  people  have  scattered ;  their  houses  and 
hotels  are  closed  and  forlorn.  But  the  little  white  cot 
tages  of  the  farms  shine  like  beacons  along  the  shore. 
The  great  peace  of  winter  casts  its  shadow  before,  and 
with  the  heavens  washed  clean  and  fair  the  seasons  seem 
to  sleep. 

In  this  October  beneficence  Jack  returned  to  Pemberton 
Neck.  The  tasks  of  the  year  had  been  done.  And  the 
larger  enterprises  of  youth  and  manhood  were  pushing 
forth  toward  their  completion.  The  Iowa  and  Northern 
had  been  reorganized  and  not  rifled.  In  the  new  road 
he  had  his  place.  His  brother  Steve  had  come  from  the 
Ohio  prison,  and  had  gone  with  his  wife  and  child  to  one 
of  Stevenson's  wheat  farms  in  the  Red  River  valley. 
Mary  and  Ruth's  children  were  happy  in  his  home  at 
Mound  City.  .  .  . 

As  the  steamer  swept  into  the  Bay,  his  eye  fell  upon 
the  dimpled  crest  of  the  hills  where  he  had  once  lain 

357 


358  THE   REAL   WORLD 

down  to  dream.  He  remembered  the  vision  of  his  dream, 
—  the  face  that  had  come  to  him  from  time  to  time  in 
the  stress  of  his  life,  a  face  unlike  any  that  he  had  ever 
met.  Then  he  turned  to  his  companion  whose  eyes  had 
followed  his  gaze,  and  something  therein  new-born,  some 
new  revelation  of  spirit,  touched  the  features  he  loved. 
She  spoke  to  him  now  as  she  had  spoken  to  him  as  a  boy 
in  his  dream,  —  with  tenderness  and  appeal  and  love. 


THE  COMMON  LOT 

By  ROBERT  HERRICK 
Author  of  "  The  Real  World,"  "  The  Web  of  Life,"  "  The  Gospel  of  Freedom,"  etc. 

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"  The  book  is  a  bit  of  the  living  America  of  to-day,  a  true  picture  of  one  of  its  most  sig 
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"  Novels  of  its  style  and  quality  are  few  and  far  between  ...  he  tells  a  story  that  is 
worth  the  telling  ...  it  is  a  study  of  life  as  he  sees  it,  and  as  thousands  of  his  readers  try 
to  avoid  seeing  it."  —  Boston  Transcript. 


The  Queen's  Quair,  or  The  Six  Years'  Tragedy 

By  MAURICE  HEWLETT 
Author  of  "  Richard  Yea-and-Nay,"  "  The  Forest  Lovers,"  etc.,  etc. 

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character.  .  .  .  'The  Queen's  Quair'  is  profoundly  absorbing,  and  no  one  among  the 
novelists  of  to-day  save  Mr.  Hewlett  could  have  written  it.  No  one  else  could  have  sus 
tained  such  a  long  narrative  on  so  high  a  level  with  such  consummate  art." 

—  New  York  Tribune. 

"  No  piece  of  historical  fiction  has  so  adequately  described  the  career  of  the  unfortu 
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in  dramatic  power  and  literary  skill.  He  uses  words  that  express  his  meaning  pre 
cisely.  .  .  .  His  conciseness  of  forcible  expression  is  indeed  admirable.  The  story,  too, 
is  full  of  action  and  commands  undivided  attention.  Mary's  portrait  leaves  a  lasting  im 
pression."  —  Boston  Budget. 


DOCTOR  TOM,  The  Coroner  of  Brett 

By  JOHN  WILLIAMS  STREETER 
Author  of  "  The  Fat  of  the  Land,"  etc. 

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"  One  of  the  best  and  manliest  novels  that  have  appeared  in  a  year." 

—  Philadelphia  Press. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


THE   CROSSING 

By  WINSTON  CHURCHILL 
Author  of  "  Richard  Carvel,"  "  The  Crisis,"  etc. 

,          ILLUSTRATED  IN  COLORS 
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and  sentimental  incident,  yet  faithful  to  historical  fact  both  in  detail  and  in  spirit." 

—  The  Dial. 

"  Mr.  Churchill's  romance  fills  in  a  gap  which  history  has  been  unable  to  span,  that 
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and  dark  and  inanimate."  —  Mr.  HORACE  R.  HUDSON  in  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


erary 


WHOSOEVER  SHALL  OFFEND 

By  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 
Author  of  "  The  Heart  of  Rome,"  "  Saracinesca,"  "  Via  Crucis,**  etc* 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  HORACE  T.  CARPENTER 
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*  Not  since  George  Eliot's  '  Romola '  brought  her  to  her  foreordained  place  among  lit- 
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us  uas  mere  appcarcu  in  Hiiigiibii  ucuon  a  unaracicr  ai  uncc  so  strung  anu 
sensitive,  so  entirely  and  consistently  human,  so  urgent  and  compelling  in  its  appeal  to 
sustained,  sympathetic  interest."  —  Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  She  is  the  most  womanly  woman  Mr.  Crawford  has  given  us  in  many  a  day,  and  after 
her  another  peasant,  bloody,  brooding  Ercole,  is  most  alive."  —  Boston  Daily  A  dvertiser. 


THE  QUEST  OF  JOHN  CHAPMAN 

THE  STORY  OF  A  FORGOTTEN  HERO 

By  NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS,  D.D. 

Author  of  "  The  Influence  of  Christ  in  Modern  Life,"  etc. 

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**  In  this  story  Mr.  Hillis  has  woven  the  life  of  the  Middle  West,  the  heroism  and  holt- 
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the  wilderness.  The  story  is  of  great  spiritual  significance,  and  yet  of  the  earth,  earthy 
—  hence  its  strength  and  vitality."  —  Montreal  Daily  Star. 

"  No  practised  technist  takes  hold  of  his  reader's  interest  with  a  prompter  or  surer  grip 
than  does  this  author  at  the  very  outset.  Nowhere  else  in  his  book  does  he  demonstrate 
his  fitness  for  the  work  of  fiction  better  than  in  the  purely  creative  work.  The  style  leaves 
little  to  be  desired,  for  Dr.  Hillis  is,  as  we  all  know,  a  stylist.  What  perhaps  is  a  surprise 
and  also  a  pleasure,  is  the  dramatic  power  revealed  by  the  author.  The  book  is  forceful, 
its  poetic  opportunities  are  never  missed,  it  is  vivid  and  striking  in  its  scenes,  and  pathos 
is  a  powerful  clement  in  the  work."  —  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 


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THE  TWO  CAPTAINS 

A   STORY  OF  BONAPARTE  AND  NELSON 

By  CYRUS  TOWNSEND  BRADY 
Author  of  "  A  Little  Traitor  to  the  South,"  etc. 

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The  action  takes  place  in  the  years  1793  and  1798.  The  historic  incidents  centre  around 
the  siege  of  Toulon  in  Southern  France  in  1793,  in  which  General  Bonaparte  first  attracts 
the  attention  of  the  world  to  his  genius;  and  the  epoch-marking  Battle  of  the  Nile  in  the 
Bay  of  Aboukir,  in  Egypt,  in  1798,  in  which  Admiral  Nelson  forever  shatters  the  French 
man's  dream  of  empire  in  the  East.  The  story  revolves  around  the  love  of  Captain  Rob 
ert  Macartney,  an  Irishman  who  is  an  officer  in  the  English  Navy  under  Nelson,  and  Louise 
de  Vnudemont,  granddaughter  of  Vice-Admiral  de  Vaudemont,  a  great  Royalist  noble  and 
officer  of  the  old  Navy  of  France  before  the  Revolution.  One  of  the  leading  characters  is 
Breboeuf,  a  silent  Breton  sailor  —  he  does  not  speak  a  dozen  words  in  the  whole  story  — 
who  interferes  at  critical  points  to  promote  the  welfare  of  the  young  lovers  in  most  strik 
ing  and  unconventional  ways.  The  coast  of  Provence,  the  land  of  the  minstrel  and  the 
troubadour,  the  city  of  Toulon,  grim-walled,  cannon-circled,  the  blue  waters  of  the  Medi 
terranean,  the  great  ships-of-the-line,  the  sandy  shores  of  Egypt,  the  ancient  city  of  Alex 
andria,  the  palace  of  the  Khedive,  the  Bay  of  Aboukir,  are  the  successive  settings  of  the 
dramatic  story.  General  Bonaparte  and  Admiral  Nelson  both  take  prominent  parts  in  the 
romance,  and  the  characters  of  these  fascinating  men  are  described  with  fidelity,  accuracy, 
and  brilliancy.  

THE  SECRET  WOMAN 

By  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS 
Author  of  "  The  American  Prisoner,"  "  My  Devon  Year,"  etc. 

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Rude  and  romantic  characters,  descriptions  of  lonely  and  picturesque  Devonshire 
scenery,  and  a  simple  plot  in  which  love  and  passion  play  strong  parts,  are  part  of  the 
secret  of  Mr.  Eden  Phillpotts'  very  strong  hold  on  the  public.  Slow-acting  and  slow- 
speaking  but  deep-feeling  peasants  play  their  parts  in  each  drama  amid  a  character 
istically  wild  but  sympathetic  environment.  The  present  powerful  story  shows  the  author 
at  his  best.  The  real  tragedy  is  not  in  the  actual  murder  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  gal 
lows,  but  in  the  moral  situation  and  the  intense,  engrossing  moral  struggle.  Despite 
certain  faults,  each  character  in  the  story  is  of  high  mind  and  purpose,  unselfish  and 
deserving  of  respect.  What  might  else  be  a  gloomy  theme  is  relieved  by  the  minor  char 
acters.  The  talk  of  the  Devonshire  rustics  is  amusing,  and  every  minor  figure  in  the 
book  is  a  distinct,  true-to-nature  character.  The  descriptions  of  external  nature  are  done 
with  feeling  and  knowledge;  in  this  field  no  other  living  romancer  equals  Mr.  Phillpotts. 
This  work  has  some  of  the  great  qualities  of  serious  literature  —  single  in  purpose,  deep 
in  study  of  motive  and  passion. 

THE  WOMAN  ERRANT 

Being  Some  Chapters  from  the  Wonder  Book  of  Barbara 

By  the  author  of  "  The  Garden  of  a  Commuter's  Wife,"  etc. 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  WILL  GREF£ 
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"  This  clear-visioned  writer,  calmly  surveying  life  from  the  wholesome  vantage  ground 
of  a  modest,  contented  suburban  home,  is  not  merely  entertaining  each  year  a  growing 
number  of  appreciative  readers,  but  she  is  inculcating  in  her  own  incisive  way  much  oi 
that  same  wise  and  simple  philosophy  of  life  that  forms  the  enduring  charm  of  the  essays 
of  Charles  Wagner."  —  New  York  Globe. 


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BARNES  —  THE  UNPARDONABLE  WAR.  By  JAMES  BARNES,  author  of  "Yankee  Ships 
and  Yankee  Sailors,"  "  Drake  and  his  Yeomen,"  etc. 

A  queer  turn  in  the  political  game ;  a  clever  scheme  in  Newspaper  Row ;  a  perfectly 
plausible  invention ;  these  are  a  few  of  the  elements  of  interest  in  this  absorbing  story. 

DAVIS  —  FALAISE  OF  THE  BLESSED  VOICE:  A  Tale  of  the  Youth  of  St.  Louis,  Kins  of 
France.  By  WILLIAM  STEARNS  DAVIS,  author  of  "A  Friend  of  Caesar,"  "God 
Wills  It."  etc. 

A  quick-moving,  interesting  tale  of  the  development  of  the  young  King  Louis  IX  of 
France  under  the  stress  of  a  great  crisis. 

DEEPING—  LOVE  AMONG  THE  RUINS.     By  WARWICK  DEEPING,  author  of  "  Uther  and 
Igraine."     With  illustrations  by  W.  Benda. 
"A  vigorous  story  .  .  .  told  in  the  spirit  of  pure  romance." 

—  New  York  Evening  Post. 

HOUSMAN  —  SABRINA  WARHAM  :  The  Story  of  Her  Youth.  By  LAURENCE  HOUSMAN, 
author  of"  Gods  and  Their  Makers,"  etc. 

A  fascinating  study  of  a  woman's  youth  in  one  of  the  coast  counties  of  England,  a 
carefully  drawn  picture  of  ever  interesting  human  types. 

LOVETT — RICHARD  GRESHAM.     By  ROBERT  MORSS  LOVETT. 

"  Goes  forward  determinedly  from  a  singular  opening  to  an  unsuspected  close,  with 
out  faltering  or  wavering  ...  a  very  honest  piece  of  workmanship." 

—  New  York  Evening  Post. 

LUTHER  —  THE  MASTERY.  By  MARK  LEE  LUTHER,  author  of  "The  Henchman," 
"  The  Favor  of  Princes,"  etc. 

A  vigorous  and  convincing  story  of  modern  practical  politics,  so  notably  strong  in 
its  sense  of  reality  as  to  give  the  reader  the  thrill  of  a  privileged  glimpse  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  one  great  game. 

OVERTON  —  CAPTAINS  OF  THE  WORLD.  By  GWENDOLEN  OVERTON,  author  of  "  Anne 
Carmel,"  "  The  Heritage  of  Unrest,"  etc. 

An  unusually  fascinating  book  .  .  .  has  the  double  attractive  power  of  earnestness 
and  a  subject  which  compels  sympathetic  attention. 

POTTER  —  THE  FLAME  GATHERERS.  By  MARGARET  HORTON  POTTER,  author  of 
"  Istar  of  Babylon,"  etc. 

"  A  wonderful  romance  of  intensity  and  color."  —  Book  News. 

SINCLAIR  —  MANASSAS.  By  UPTON  SINCLAIR,  author  of  "Springtime  and  Harvest," 
etc. 

"  In  no  single  volume  which  we  can  call  to  mind  have  the  undercurrents  of  feeling, 
so  intense  and  so  varied,  that  swayed  men's  minds  in  those  troublous  times,  been  so 
fully  and  well  portrayed." —  The  Times  Dispatch  (Richmond). 

WEBSTER  — TRAITOR  AND  LOYALIST:  Or,  The  Man  who  Found  his  Country.  By 
HENRY  KITCHELL  WEBSTER,  author  of"  Roger  Drake:  Captain  of  Industry,'  "  The 
Banker  and  the  Bear,"  etc.  With  illustrations  by  Joseph  Cummings  Chase. 

Mr.  Webster's  new  romance  is  one  in  which  love  and  war  contribute  a  full  quota 
of  interest,  intrigue,  thrilling  suspense,  and  hairbreadth  escapes. 


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"  It  deserves  the  widest  reading,  not  only  as  a  piece  of  admira 
ble  writing,  but  as  a  powerful  presentation  of  the  contemporary 
American  tragedy." —  The  Outlook. 

"  The  book  as  a  story  is  absorbingly  interesting ;  as  a  moral 
study  it  is  not  less  than  great." —  The  Interior,  Chicago. 

"  It  is  the  human  quality  in  books  that  is  the  gauge  of  their 
attractiveness,  and  there  is  plenty  of  this  in  '  The  Common  Lot.' " 

—  New  York  Times. 


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" '  The  Gospel  of  Freedom '  is  destined  to  place  the  author  in 
the  front  ranks  of  the  writers  to  whom  we  must  look  for  our  best 
and  most  serious  fiction."  —  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 


THE  WEB  OF  LIFE 

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"Highly  entertaining  and  interesting."  —  New  York  Times. 

"  A  novel  that  may  truly  be  called  the  greatest  study  of  social 
life  in  a  broad  and  very  much  up-to-date  sense  that  has  ever 
been  contributed  to  American  fiction." —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 


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